Through A Glass, Darkly
by Plurimisverbis
Summary: T&Z, S8 & the Ray-Jay mess.  Rated M for Sex & Language.  I don't mind if you read this at work - as long as your boss doesn't.
1. For Now

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain. **

**S8 & Ray-Jay – so some spoilers I suppose! Tony's undercover mission won't be in this. That's already attached to an idea for another, separate story; when I get around to it. Feel free to point out any errors &/or omissions along the way.**

**Regular readers will know I like to get all my pieces assembled, sometimes mess with time a little & that I'm a woefully slow spinner of tales.**

**It is all plotted out and, with a little luck, should all make sense in the end. So if you'll give me your patience I'll see if I can tell you a decent story?**

**Some of the cases will be from the season. The rest, as usual, are really just a backdrop. Please remember there is a very good reason I shouldn't write for a t.v. show. Here goes….**

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><p>"<em>For now we see through a glass, darkly"<em>

_1 Corinthians 13:12_

**September 2010**

Gibbs stared grimly at the skeleton doll dangling from Ducky's hand and the one on Abby's car. Some Day of the Dead calacas can be fun and whimsical – these were decidedly sinister. A multitude of scenarios and their outcomes flashed through his mind but, before he could act, his cell rang. Paloma's voice purred threateningly in his ear.

"Derrick." He called the security guard, curt concern evident in his voice as he dialed. "McGee, trace the location of my last call."

Waiting for his Junior Agent to work his technical magic, Gibbs shepherded Abby & Ducky over to the guard. "You two go back inside. Stay with them."

As McGee gave Gibbs the ominous news, he issued a final order "Get DiNozzo. Get Ziva" – Pulling off the NCIS badge and moving quickly toward his car "Get them there, now."

"Edwards is in surgery. The doctors think he's gonna make it." Tony looked at his boss.

"Director Vance has sent Special Agent King and a counselor to see Hughes' wife." – Dropping his voice because Gibbs' father loomed in the doorway – clearly upset by the fate of his protectors.

Gibbs nodded – lost in thought and strategy – turning as Ziva came through the front door.

"The perimeter is clear, Gibbs, no sign of activity."

She held up an evidence bag. "I found one shell casing the gunmen missed or perhaps left as a signature. Special Agent Hughes was shot execution style. Close range, his…."

Ziva noticed Tony's eyes, the imperceptible nod in the direction of Gibbs Snr. and halted her usual, dispassionate report of death.

"Four agents have arrived for security." – Her tone instantly shifting to reassurance. "Should we expand the area of canvass?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No." He held his father's gaze. "They're gone."

Jackson Gibbs' brow crinkled. "Did you say the dead agent had family?"

His question was a little querulous. Although he had stoically faced down an attack by himself in Stillwater, a shooting incident the previous year had caused distress. In the lull of regrouping the shock and consequences took their toll.

"Mr. Gibbs, please would you help me make some coffee?" Ziva smiled brightly at the older man.

Well used to the aftermath of crisis, she made her appeal on the grounds that keeping someone busy was likely to keep them from dwelling on unpleasantness. Tony watched in admiration as she took Jackson Gibbs' arm, guiding him back into the kitchen – away from the grim brutality of the discussions. Then he grinned as Mike Frank's voice floated from within.

"Lady Ziva, always a pleasure." – Sounding as if he'd waited all his life for Ziva to appear in front of him. "But I'm hopin' for somethin' a little stronger than coffee." The old reprobate may have lost a finger, he hadn't lost any speed. "And you _know_ how strong I like my coffee."

The grin slipped from Tony's face. "Ducky got one, Abby got one and so did you." He frowned. "They were here, so why not complete the hit? Why call you?"

"She's playing games." Gibbs growled. "Paloma wants me distracted; thinks I'll crack."

Tony caught a glimpse of the expression which must have formed on Gibbs' features when he looked through the scope of his M40A1. The look before his many enemy targets for the U.S. Marine Corps died; before Pedro Hernandez met boat-tailed revenge. Most recently, before Saleem's consciousness froze into astonished annihilation. It encompassed confidence, concentration and an utter absence of mercy. Tony respected their leader enormously but, at this moment, fleetingly acknowledged he wouldn't want to cross Gibbs.

"Threatening people who matter first." Gibbs raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Told me as much in Mexico."

Tony took a seat, waiting patiently for the next set of instructions, as Gibbs called McGee again. Ziva joined them, handing her boss a mug. Gibbs grunted gratitude – in between listening to the update and informing McGee of the latest developments. Tony looked inquiringly at her.

"They are talking combat stories." Smiling, Ziva sat beside him.

The veterans of Korean and Vietnam had begun exchanging reminiscences as old warriors have a tendency to do. Illustrating that whilst theatres and weaponry may alter, some elements involved rarely change. Gibbs snapped his 'phone shut and faced them.

"Abby?" Tony asked genuinely concerned.

Their colleague was the most vulnerable. Alejandro Rivera had singled out Abby from the beginning. Moreover his veiled menaces about her safety had been the prelude for the night's events.

"McGee's with her." Gibbs confirmed the obvious counter-measure. "There's an agent with Palmer….and Ducky."

There was a curious hint in the remark that Ducky was eminently capable of defending himself. The Pathologist's background and connection with their boss always seemed straightforward – yet there was enough unknown for the team to speculate Ducky's past held more than a touch of intrigue.

"We will stay here?" Ziva assumed security for the Gibbs' residence would be their primary focus for the immediate future.

Gibbs considered his options. "No." - Grimacing at a gulp of hot liquid. "We'll handle this end."

He wanted time to think – four agents outside, he and Mike Franks inside would work for the present. Not to mention his father was fairly handy with a gun. Despite his curiosity over what plan would be set in motion, Tony correctly guessed Gibbs wasn't ready to enlighten his team. He stood and looked down at Ziva.

"I'll follow you home." As her mouth opened to express protest, he glanced across for command approval – the only way to convince Ziva.

"Paloma's not done yet." Gibbs' answer was implicit agreement with Tony's silent request for back-up.

One didn't become a highly successful entrepreneur and CEO of a thriving business – even if that commerce entailed illegal goods and smuggling – without being a worthy adversary. Gibbs despised Paloma Reynosa. However, he wouldn't underestimate her capabilities. Disrupting or harming his MCRT would be an advantage in her wider goal of expanding the supply chain within the U.S. With the added bonus that it would inflict suffering upon her nemesis.

Once Tony and Ziva had left, Gibbs pulled out his 'phone again – time for a consultation with Vance, followed by a war council.

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><p>Following Ziva was not the easiest project. She registered her annoyance at Tony's intervention by driving as though being pursued rather than escorted; apparently completing the journey without utilizing the brake pedal once. In the parking lot, she stalked over to his car.<p>

"I am home." The irritation curbed in Gibbs' house began escaping. "You can leave."

Tony ignored the prickly dismissal. "I'm coming in." The comment was easily made but contained an edge of determination.

Science teaches us the two fundamentals hardwired into human DNA are self-preservation and pro-creation. Over the years, Tony had discovered a third; one which took precedence over these primary instincts. It was the overwhelming need to protect Ziva. He assumed the mantle of guardian against the hazards of their work or Ziva's own daring disregard for her safety. On the surface it would seem a ridiculous instinct given her formidable strengths and abilities. Tony didn't dispute her skills; deriving immense pride from them. He merely provided a cushion for such occasions when Ziva appeared on the verge of re-writing the definition of 'the ends justify the means' – in her own scary terms. And tonight several factors were bothering him.

"Tony you are over-reacting." Walking rapidly toward her building, Ziva attempted another brush off. "It would be a mistake for Paloma to target me."

He jogged and drew level with her. "Maybe….on your first point." In the dim, patchy pools of outdoor lights Ziva saw him grin. "Definitely on your second – but she doesn't know that."

"Ducky conducted the autopsy, Abby supplied the forensic expertise." - Making their way to her apartment, Ziva continued her logical analysis. "Gibbs performed the kill. They make sense for receiving threats."

"You're on Gibbs team, Zee-vah." Tony's voice was much quieter, drawing his gun, he indicated she should open the door.

Smooth, well-oiled, machinery of partnership sprang into action; the minor quarrel ceased as they entered and went room to room checking for possible assailants.

"Clear." - Holstering his gun. "Though Tim Burton's been decorating your bedroom." – Pulling a glove out of his pocket and retrieving the macabre, garish effigy from her pillow.

Tony had never been inside her bedroom. He paused for moment. Smiling at the unmade bed, trying not to imagine Ziva curled asleep - suddenly noticing the room was filled with her scent. Recognition crept into Tony's perceptions; striking awareness of having missed Ziva and how much. In retreat from the unwelcome thoughts, he wandered into the living room, holding out the evil-looking juju. In reality there was no requirement for processing the object as evidence – its origins were in no doubt.

"They must have picked the lock….for this." – Ziva's lip twitched scornfully, waving her hand at the offering. It would take a great deal more before the former Mossad operative became unnerved.

"I suppose it is my turn to follow you home?" Since she was proven right, Ziva made fun of his unfounded concerns.

Tony let the taunt pass. "Nah, ten'll get you a hundred the Corpse Bride's waiting for me too. Same at McGee's place."

Deliberately placing Paloma's warning on a table and avoiding eye contact, he cleared his throat. "But we weren't seduced…" - Hesitating because he hated articulating the notion - "By any mysterious strangers while on assignment."

This was the main focus of his worry. With the Reynosas on the rampage and their ability to extend the tentacles of the organization - seemingly at will - Tony was rattled by the new presence in Ziva's life. Naturally, it wasn't a simple area. The motivation was another facet in safe-guarding his Ninja; the anonymous desire to shield her from emotional exploitation and hurt.

"Neither was I." - Looking at him directly and neutrally cutting the subtle fishing line.

"It's just a strange coincidence, that's all." Tony invoked the team mantra; bestowing a cloak of merit for his misgivings. Meeting her eyes and giving the impression of casual observation - nothing further.

Ziva laughed. "For a man to be interested in me?"

A distinctly awkward challenge; an affirmative would be untrue and more than a little insulting. A negative skirted the hazardous territory of uncomfortable admission on Tony's part. The atmosphere took on a slightly charged ambience.

"Well that depends on whether he became interested before or after the lineless tanning session." Tony cocked his head, the joke permitting a push for information. "Zee-vah?"

"It is not important." Ziva dodged the personal question. Nevertheless, Tony's point was valid. "I can assure you that my friend…" - Emphasizing the platonic nature of the relationship – "Has no connection with the Reynosas or any other cartel."

Ray Cruz had been a pleasant diversion for the duration of her stay in Miami. Ziva was extremely circumspect in engaging with him; her character and previous events denoted caution. However, he had proved to be attentive, amicable and good company. The CIA Agent was very open; willingly helpful in offering local links for assistance with Ziva's investigation. Moreover they shared common ground in experiences and operational histories – Mossad was a familiar entity in Rays' world.

"According to McGee, our respectable liaison from the Mexican Justice Dept. started by putting the moves on Abby and he's not exactly fucking innocent now is he?" Vague nagging uncertainty prevented Tony from dropping the topic.

Ziva turned away from him with a frustrated sigh. The inquiries were somewhat justified. "Do you believe I did not consider the potential circumstances when I met him?"

"No, I guess not." Reluctantly Tony conceded. "So how much do you know about him?" – Walking over to the window and staring out as if searching the skyline for clues.

"Enough, Tony, I know enough." Impatience with his persistence sharpened her reply. "He is not involved in….this case."

Ziva didn't want to lie to Tony by suggesting Ray was completely disconnected from the sphere of law enforcement. The careful phrasing was an illustration of her aim.

Tony rolled his head from side to side. "OK."

Briefly Ziva wondered if she should reveal more about Ray in an effort to quash Tony's obvious suspicions. The I-believe-you-thousands-wouldn't tone of his response nettled her mood.

"I was working." - Defensive anger seeping into the exchange. "How do you think I obtained the drug shipment information?"

His unspoken accusation that she could have fallen for a ruse was sufficiently annoying. More importantly, Ziva was battling the renewed confusion Tony always created. Seeing him, being with him again reanimated the blend of pleasure and turmoil. If Paloma Reynosa's crew had conjured a fully functional specter in her apartment, they wouldn't have achieved this level of disturbance within Ziva's being.

Tony swung around to face her. "I don't know, Zee-vah." - Sarcastically increasing the tension. "Where _did_ that tip originate?"

He was torn. It might be harmless - absolutely understandable - attraction which brought this man into her life. Conversely, it might be simply too convenient. Dispiriting déjà vu lurked in the corners of Tony's mind. He consciously reined in his temper.

"There's a lot of variables. I'm just saying…." The attempt for negotiated peace stalled.

What he was saying mired in practical opinion and personal disquiet. Returned to D.C. less than twenty four hours and already Ziva's spell over him had set their cauldron bubbling.

Ziva moved closer. "I know." - Smiling in conciliation, she promoted the calmer opening. "If there were any doubt, I would listen to you."

She centered the reasoning on respect for his professional expertise. "He is not deceiving me." - Studying his reaction. "I met someone and had some fun."

Thus far, Ziva would describe her contact with Ray as a promising friendship. They hadn't slept together – although Ray hadn't disguised his hopes in that direction. She viewed the new relationship almost like a vacation dalliance. Monitoring the cartel's U.S. structure and movements was a relatively dull procedure. Alone in an unfamiliar city, it had been enjoyable spending downtime with a local.

The statement did nothing to alleviate Tony's internal unease. However, Ziva had adequately answered his questions - pressing the issue would look peculiar.

"Lucky you." He grinned; reclaiming outward nonchalance. "I met an ambush in the Barrio."

Ziva's expression was transformed into surprised worry. "You did not tell me."

She was serious in her reproach. Like Tony, Ziva was also afflicted with an elemental compulsion - for protecting him.

"They missed." Tony's cavalier mask was firmly back in place. His gaze settled on an incredibly tacky miniature of the Statue of Liberty decked out as a Goth. "Besides, I didn't wanna rain on your parade."

Abby's gift was unthinkingly positioned next to the photograph of the three David children. Relaxed, cheerful faces and the little memento bookends to Ziva's existence; a snapshot of past happiness aligned with a hopeful future. As if recollection of one would aid in the search for the other. Embracing a new homeland and renouncing ties to one's Mother country – whatever the reasons - are huge steps for anyone. Ziva's citizenship ceremony held even greater significance than such rubrics do for most people.

His voice lowered, softly sincere. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, Ninja." Tony's regret was palpable.

"It was not your choice." She was disappointed by his absence. Rational acceptance of the situation had wrestled emotional understanding as to why Ziva felt that particular loss - without a clear winner.

A delicate truce had been declared. "Would you like a drink?" - Seeing that Tony was preparing for departure, Ziva seized an opportunity to prolong the meeting.

"No. Thanks." Tony shook his head. "Gibbs is gonna want us later." – Heading down the hallway, he added. "I'm only allowed to get you home, remember, not socialize with you." There was faint bitterness in the remark.

"Do not forget there will, perhaps, be a warning at your apartment." With no appropriate answer, she left his complaint hanging and disconsolately watched him leave.

After the necessary period of time had elapsed, she picked up her 'phone. Ziva's thumb hovered over the speed-dial for his number – indecision swirling through her thoughts. Finally, she settled for a text; r u ok? Four bland letters conveying the message of underlying concern. Tony's reply was a photo of a skeleton doll which he had propped up next to a glass of Scotch.

For now Tony and Ziva were limited to keeping each other safe from physical danger; reacting with the predictability of an auto-immune response. This protective instinct was driven by a subconscious fear; the prospect of life without each other. On some level both of them knew the true source of the trouble. Yet, restricted by the circumstances surrounding their interaction and paralyzed by individual demons, hiding behind deflection was an easier course. And therein lay the rub. Neither had calculated the cost of the mutual protection racket. Dissatisfaction with the present left the potential for ill-judged substitution. Their relationship was understated to the point of invisible which led, inevitably, to mistakes.

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><p><strong>Reviews – likes and dislikes, good or bad - are awfully helpful and much appreciated. As ever, make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.<strong>


	2. At Sea

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain. **

**Sorry, this took longer than I'd hoped to write - horrible, crazy schedule, groan!**

**I know very little about ships or the U.S. Navy in general. It's fanfic., so some of the descriptions etc., etc., are written to suit my evil purposes!**

**The usual for the case and background….**

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><p>"<em>There is nothing quite so good as burial at sea. It is simple, tidy, and not very incriminating."<em>

_Alfred Hitchcock_

**October 2010**

Tony would describe himself as curious or inquisitive. Others would describe the trait more critically; he was nosy. The characteristic was a central component in his considerable ability as an investigator. This dedicated aptitude for mysteries served him admirably when applied to solving crimes. Tony noticed the out-of-place, caught anomalies in seemingly ordinary situations. He had an almost unfailing instinct for spotting discrepancies in human behavior - especially in matters of disguised truth. During the past weeks he had observed Ziva's conduct regarding the new man from Miami. Sometimes employing a direct approach, sometimes drawing conclusions from casual remarks she made and sometimes, basically, snooping. Gradually he began forming a sense of the person he had mentally labeled 'the Unsub.' It wasn't a particularly flattering term – more frequently associated with sinister strangers and unhinged killers. Tony stuck carefully with clever nicknames whenever discussing the matter with Ziva.

Thus far he had discovered the man was older than Ziva – apparently by some margin - and his occupation required a certain level of security clearance. The first conclusion was, in actual fact, quite a promising revelation; the second less so. Tony's shadowy suspicion remained. Although unable to isolate the precise reason, the little ripple of concern lapped, periodically, at the periphery of his thoughts. They emailed each other – a lot. However, as far as Tony could tell, Ziva hadn't seen the unnamed friend since her return from Florida. His process of deduction involved several minor skirmishes which, if nothing else, underscored Tony and Ziva's unique talent for achieving stubborn stalemate over the simplest of issues. Following one such squabble, Ziva had suggested Tony could have read the emails – if only he had sought permission. His willingly optimistic assumption was the contents were fairly innocent and non-incriminating.

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><p>"The SecNav does not want to have to turn this ship around. Get in, get it done and try to avoid a public relations disaster."<p>

Director Vance's emphatic words reverberated in their heads as Tony and Ziva ducked under the still whirring blades of the helicopter and ran across the flight deck of the supercarrier. Special Agent Nichola Lewis waited for them at one side – a mixture of relief and worry on her face.

"Agents DiNozzo and David?" The young woman's inquiry was shouted over the rhythmic whump of rotors as the chopper maneuvered elsewhere and the busy operations continued. "Nicky Lewis."

"Hi, Tony DiNozzo." – The dazzling smile flashed before vanishing into an eye roll under the deafening noise. "This is my partner, Zee-vah David."

Ziva's greeting was a nod – words would be wasted. The group turned and entered the base of the island, making their way down several levels. It was marginally quieter below decks; though the intermittent roar of circuits and bumps still erupted. Furthermore, here the din was augmented by the steady hum of machinery and multitude of sounds generated by a small ocean-going city.

"Man, am I glad to see you guys." – Reaching her quarters, Lewis began an eager welcome. "At least I think I am." She smiled quizzically at Tony.

"Yeah, you're glad to see us." Tony's grin was full of understanding reassurance.

She was slightly sturdy in build - pretty with short dark hair and blue eyes which currently held self-doubt.

"I mean the Director sent you and that can't be good, there's the journalist." She glanced apologetically between them. "We've been away for six months, now there's this death and…"

"Sitrep?" - This time his voice was firmer; interrupting the distracted explanation of the irrelevant.

The ship was returning from deployment by way of a brief humanitarian trip in the Caribbean. A late hurricane in the area had brought torrential rain, deluging floods and mudslides to one of the smaller islands. En route to Norfolk – after months at sea - the carrier had sailed around most of the inclement conditions bearing welcome Search and Rescue capabilities and other practical assistance. The generosity of those who serve illustrated by delaying the longed for rendezvous with home – in order to lend a helping hand.

Tony's question stopped her superfluous commentary.

"Oh yes, of course." Embarrassment for not immediately starting the debriefing showed.

This was Lewis' first assignment as an Agent Afloat; just under eighteen months out of the Academy and a new promotion to the rank of Special Agent under her belt. She was relatively inexperienced but competent and on course for a promising career.

"We discovered the body three days ago. Her neck was broken. It could have been an accident but the ship's doctor wanted it investigated." She smiled uncertainly. "I haven't found any witnesses."

"Why is the doctor concerned?" Ziva matter-of-factly began an assessment. "Is there any evidence which indicates the fall was not accidental?"

Her rational thought process automatically ignored the appeal in Nicky's comment.

The younger agent looked apprehensively at her reinforcements. The MCRT enjoyed a reputation of either fame or notoriety within NCIS – depending on the perspective – for remarkable devotion to duty, a peerless success rate and exceedingly unorthodox methods. Tony and Ziva were mini celebrities in the fabric of that workplace lore. Tony was sometimes categorized as arrogant, reckless and a womanizer; Ziva as an unstable, unfeeling former assassin.

Then there was the titillating fascination over the partners' relationship. Colorful gossip spanned a broad range of wild conjecture. At one extreme Gibbs spent his energies preventing the two from killing each other on a near daily basis. On the other, the legendary leader was permanently thwarting an on-going, torrid liaison. Nicky was smart enough to realize the truth was unknown and probably lay somewhere in the middle. Nevertheless, it was intimidating to be facing two thirds of Leroy Jethro Gibbs' crack unit – especially this pair - whilst armed with less than satisfactory answers.

"Just the way she landed at the bottom of the companionway. It looked odd, like she fell through the gap – that wouldn't make sense."

Nicky shrugged uncertainly; unsure if Ziva was unfriendly or dauntingly uber-professional. "Maybe I missed something."

Tony picked up on the anxiety caused by Ziva's somewhat challenged interpersonal skills.

"Background on Petty Officer Taylor?" - Drawing the Junior Agent's focus to the case details - away from perceived offense - for a support mechanism.

Nicky responded to the nudge.

"She was in the Supply Dept., good at her job. There were no problems reported." She looked at Tony. "She was…." - Pausing because the young woman was dead and it seemed disrespectful, somehow, to offer harsh realities. "A ton of people knew her, none of them very well. I think she was….tolerated."

"Not liked then?" Tony flatly stated the fact.

Ziva bit back a smile at Tony's unconscious channeling of his boss' manner. The steady, short inquiries were distinctly 'Gibbsian' in quality.

"No, she wasn't really." Nicky shook her head in agreement.

"Was there anyone to whom she was close?" Ziva's smile lingered in her voice and she appeared warmer. "Or anyone she had trouble with openly?"

"A few….although close isn't how I'd describe them." - Gratefully receiving the thawed mood. "She'd had fights with several people and then there's this…."

Walking over to the desk, Nicky flipped open her laptop and cued video footage.

The three of them watched an F/A-18 Super Hornet approach for a landing and then abort at the last minute because of personnel on the flight deck.

"The pilot was seen arguing with Petty Officer Taylor a couple of days before this incident. That's her, right there." – Waving her hand at the screen. "You can see the camera's showing F; he shouldn't have tried to set down with a Foul signal. I mean it was reviewed and no action taken but…."

Tony screwed up his face, skepticism evident. "I can think of easier, more effective ways of killing someone than parking a fighter on top of them."

"I know." The Junior Agent admitted. "The thing is Petty Officer Taylor shouldn't have been up there. She wasn't cleared for that area."

There was touch of defensive pride in making the point. Lewis knew her stuff and had followed procedure. "When I questioned her about it, she said she had a meeting with someone. She didn't – at least not officially."

"She worked in Supply." Tony stared at the screen speculatively. "That's gotta be the key."

Tony and Ziva were facing each other each other. "What are you thinking?"

Immediately recognizing his expression and knowing he had formed a theory, Ziva requested the direction in which Tony's intuition was taking him. And Nicky – left in McGee's usual place - saw her first glimpse of Tony and Ziva's special rapport.

"Supply Clerks, they're like the Concierge at a good hotel." Tony started his explanation. "You know, that guy who can get you anything you want."

He cocked his head. "For a price: tickets to the game, an impossible dinner reservation. Hookers." His last item added with effortless charm - ever the playboy for an audience. "Taylor was well-known but unpopular. I'll bet she was supplying more than duty requirements."

Ziva didn't question his hunch. "We need to discover what and to whom." She turned towards Nicky. "Do you have any suspects?"

"The pilot, it was a pretty bad argument." Hastily rifling through papers, aware her desk was a mess, she located her notebook. "And…only one other. He's one of the Fire Control Techs."

Tony scribbled down the name, tore the page out and handed it to Ziva. "We'll go talk to the throttle jockey. You take this guy."

Special Agent Lewis was relieved by the efficient assistance.

"There's a lot of people on board – about five thousand. I don't know how we'll narrow the search if I'm wrong about these two." The note of defeated worry crept into her tone.

"Same as we'd do in a town. Means, motive and opportunity." Tony boosted her confidence again.

"I should update Mr. Butler." Nicky reminded them of the second reason Tony and Ziva were parachuted in from D.C. "The Post reporter?"

A journalist had been embedded with the ship for the duration of its mission. Covering all angles of life on a U.S. Naval aircraft carrier in blogs and Op-ed articles; fostering the support of folks back home for their defenders. The extension of the deployment, to aid the stricken islanders, was the sort of coup which would be considered a gift in terms of favorable reporting. Now the positive publicity might be marred by an unexplained death and a stalled investigation. Vance had instigated corrective measures at the behest of the SecNav.

"Fuck." Tony grimaced. "I'd forgotten the goddamned hack."

As they walked down the crowded, narrow passageways, a routine drill was occurring. Boots thumped, pounding overhead as crew members rushed purposefully to their posts. Hatchway covers clanged and banged. A volley of gunfire erupted from the practice range; the sound of the shots echoing and bouncing off the metal surfaces. Tony glanced at Ziva and noticed the strained tension flickering suddenly across her face.

"He's pestering me for answers." Initially, Mr. Butler agreed upon co-operative silence - until the facts were determined. However, the possibility of a dramatic scoop loomed and he was growing impatient.

"Yeah, well, he can wait." Tony was scrutinizing Ziva who seemed pre-occupied, distant.

Nicky realized this was a firsthand display of another aspect to Tony and Ziva's instinctive, incomprehensible behavior. Although Tony was carrying on a conversation with her, his attention and gaze were focused solely on Ziva.

"He wants to write this up - says we can't restrict the freedom of the press." - Intrigued by her observations.

Tony's eyes never left Ziva even whilst dismissing Nicky's concerns. "There's nothing to restrict. We don't know anything."

"He's threatening to go ahead and file a story. You guys are here because the Director doesn't want it to look bad." Lewis was candid in conceding the necessary addition of seasoned help. "He gave me a really hard time about the bad publicity…"

"You're doing fine." He soothed absentmindedly, still concentrating on Ziva.

"Crazy Ninja runs amok is a terrible headline." Tony grinned wolfishly as his remark produced the desired result. "Vance just wants us Field Agents to stop Probationary Agent David from shooting or otherwise maiming anyone."

Ziva's expression eased and she returned the smile.

"NCIS Agent falls overboard might be less damaging." Her deadpan threat was a playful acknowledgement - that she had sensed his concern. "How well do you swim Tony?"

Despite not fully understanding what was causing their reactions to each other, Nicky was amazed by the perpetual shifts in the interaction. Transposing, in a matter of minutes, from case based through a hidden trial to lighthearted – all achieved by unspoken, almost telepathic, messaging.

* * *

><p>"Well the zipper-suited-Sun-god didn't do it." Tony had tracked down Ziva. "He was jerking off at Mach One when Taylor died."<p>

She was leaning against a railing on the island, pensively scanning the Occident and watching the ocean.

He and Lewis had concluded their interview with the surly, conceited F/A-18 pilot. The antipathy for the Petty Officer was undisputed. His rationale outlined no further than the deceased was a conniving bitch. However, Tony's derision of the aviator's mindset was a simply a release for frustration because the alibi was irrefutable.

Standing alongside Ziva, Tony appeared absorbed by the workings of the flight deck as the personnel prepared for the night. The last occasion she'd been on a ship there had been a firefight, a murder and a deceptive scuttling – clearly the earlier commotion had triggered introspection.

"It was weird, you know, thinking you'd drowned." – Deliberately not looking directly at Ziva, he tentatively tried accessing her thoughts. "Like….like the imperfect storm had got you."

Weird was a curiously impotent word for chronicling the experience. A more accurate depiction would be raw, undiluted pain. Without warning Tony had found himself positioned on the other side of the equation. He shared the suffering of victims' friends and family distraught over the unknown fate or final moments of their loved ones. The advice he had so freely dispensed over the years – resist dwelling on the specifics because it only exacerbates the anguish – was utterly useless. His heart had shunned the platitudes and phrases in favor of endlessly wondering exactly how she'd died, where and why. Whether she had been caught inside the submerging vessel or battered into exhaustion by huge waves.

The scenarios invaded his sleep. Ziva trapped in total darkness. Gasping for air as water filled her lungs through a panicked, distressed descent into oblivion. Other times, in his mind's eye, she was floating on a beautiful and calm sea - under a perfect blue sky. Tony would reach out and Ziva would slip away - his very own pale, lifeless Ophelia. Then he would jolt awake and, regardless of how dreadful the dream, the torment of reality was far worse – amplified by the constraints of speaking in generalizations about the team's loss.

She glanced quickly at Tony in appreciation; he didn't need to ask.

"I did not think anyone at NCIS would ever hear of the Damocles." – Fixing her eyes on the sun dipping below the horizon. "That you would be tracking the ship."

She had filled the empty, desolate hours in a variety of ways. However, rescue by Tony had never manifested as means of distraction. A punishing regimen of exercise – maintaining her physical fitness - until the effects of continued brutality and poor diet took their toll. Practicing conversations in all her languages and re-reading books in her head; any mental stimulus used in fighting the inexorable dulling of her skill set and intellectual agility. Ziva formulated strategies for attacking the camp or plotting an escape. Even inventing origin stories for her captors - before grinding isolation, degradation and despair eroded her spirit.

Since Ziva didn't shut him down, Tony pursued the fragile overture.

"It was the last known location we had for you; Tim, Abby and me." – Including their colleagues and stressing their commitment in careful deflection from a personal obsession with her whereabouts. "Christ, Abby and McGee hacked Mossad."

She turned around from surveying the vast expanse of rolling water.

"Sometimes I wondered what you….all of you, were doing. I imagined what the cases under investigation might be." - Following his example and detaching any individual involvements. "It was helpful."

Helpful was another unsatisfactory word; as equally defective for conveying the truth as Tony's claim of weird. A natural consequence of misfortune is the human capacity for revisiting happy memories and seeking refuge in the securities they provide. During Ziva's imprisonment the comfort derived from reflecting on her associations and life at NCIS was dissipated by an additional sharp layer of remorse and confusion. Merciless interrogation on the organization had emphasized both the shattered link and the strength of her connection. She was especially vulnerable on the issue of Tony. Struggling to withstand the differing techniques and assaults well beyond the limits of her endurance - to protect the team, him.

"You didn't think we'd be in contact after….just 'cause you'd gone home?" Realizing 'we' was ambiguous, Tony didn't wait for a reply. "Then Gibbs told us about the sinking."

He grinned fleetingly at his boss' unfailing gut. "Though I still haven't figured out how he knew we were on it."

"And you believed the story?" It was a peculiar concept; hearing how the news of one's death had been received.

"Oh yeah." His comment was tinged with wry sincerity. "No survivors is pretty definitive. 'Cept I don't think Gibbs ever bought it. Some stuff didn't add up."

Tony omitted his own questioning of the theory. Once the shock – and first few difficult nights of nutritional liquor consumption – had worn off, his talent for puzzles activated. Tony constructed a life-raft from the flotsam and jetsam of fragmentary intelligence. Dunham's accounts of a possible female captive and increased Mossad activity in the vicinity buoyed his disbelief. There was the glaring absence of any official notification. In Tony's estimation, her father's blood ran at a temperature roughly equivalent to that of liquid Nitrogen. Nevertheless, he was certain if Ziva had been killed in the line of duty there would be some type of announcement.

"It seems we were not as untraceable as we supposed." Ruefully amused, Ziva was both interested and reticent. "Which pieces were wrong?"

The ruse had been a created by altered circumstances and designed for disguise. Her operational self wished to isolate flaws in the tactic – for future reference. Moreover another, repressed, part of her psyche was being drawn into this subtle exchange - controlled emotions slipping their bonds and involuntarily engaging with Tony.

Tony was more than slightly stunned the dialogue wasn't already dead in the water. "I guess 'cause there was no proof – nothing - not from Vance or even Eli."

He leaned further over the rail, gazing down at the gunwale – lost in recollection.

"I was expecting confirmation. Or recognition you'd been part of NCIS. I mean, when the retired ones croak they tell us. If it was true….if you were…." After more than a year he still had trouble - an irrational superstition - over verbalizing the event.

Tony shrugged – striving to hold a casual line. "So the geek club kept trying to finding you."

"Gibbs told me the mission was your idea." Ziva raised an inquiring eyebrow. His neutrality was cast a little too obviously this time.

In a tranquil backwater of his subconscious, beneath all the relatively sensible evidence that Ziva might be alive, had drifted a foolish, fanciful hope. That if she were dead, he would know with absolutely no doubt whatsoever – because he would feel it. Rationally, the notion was a classic stage for the bereaved. Denial dressed as faith. Yet this agnosticism on the accepted doctrine of Ziva's demise had fuelled his actions. Tony had never spoken about the subject. He had barely identified its significance internally. However, the perception had been so strong Tony had worried he wouldn't be sufficiently convincing for his showdown with Saleem - a crucial component in the scheme. The terrorist must be goaded into producing his valuable prisoner – to revel in his enemies' errors - so there would be as little delay as possible in Ziva's retrieval.

Her rebuttal was totally unexpected. "Yeah, kinda." Tony hedged. "It was….tough." He hesitated. "On everyone." - Shying away from exposing the trickily personal, nebulous element.

"I am sorry." – Running her thumb in a circle around a raised nut in the metal barrier, Ziva offered a grave, caring apology.

"For what? Not drowning?" Tony's quiet joke belied the intense atmosphere.

A chance of a breakthrough – understanding - hovered elusively in the encounter. Their eyes locked.

Ziva shook her head with a faint smile. "For….doubting you; accusing you."

She wanted to say 'for hurting you' – because that confession would be the truth. Unfortunately, like Tony, she settled on avoidance. Acceding to the principle she had hurt Tony and regretted that hurt, laid bare disconcerting feelings. There was steadiness in clinging to the standard excuse afforded by professional collegiality. Tacit admission they possessed the power of inflicting that sort of emotional harm upon each other would act like an existential quantifier. It would be an explicit statement; testimony of a relationship which far surpassed that of co-workers or even extremely good friends. Ziva smothered her impulse, broke the eye contact and refocused on the case and safety.

"I interviewed Petty Officer Jeremy Carter. He claims he was playing cards with six friends." There was a hint of awkwardness in the switch of topics – aware Tony would recognize retreat.

"His shipmates remember his presence for part of the game. One suggested I check the fan room roster." She looked up, her expression appealing for a reprieve on the evasion. "I have not been able to locate such a room."

Briefly Tony considered forestalling her escape. Relenting in the sure knowledge exerting pressure would trip Ziva's defenses - which would likely spark a quarrel. The discussion was inconclusive but could be construed as dimly positive.

"Well that's 'cause it doesn't exist." – Grinning because one of the sailors had sent Ziva on a snipe hunt. Unfamiliar with her temperament, it was a move the man might regret later.

"Why would his friends lie?" Ziva asked indignantly – realizing she'd been misled.

"Not lie really; it's like a code. The Fan room, X-ray room's another word for it - they're someplace you go if you want a little privacy." Tony suppressed laughter at her growing outrage.

"Carter wanted privacy. Espionage perhaps?" Ziva missed Tony's point completely. "Drugs? Sabotage?…."

"It's more specific than that." He interrupted the sensible reasoning.

"It's…uh….It means for sex Zee-vah; if you wanna be alone with someone." He cocked his head, still amused. "They were trying to tell you Carter's sleeping around – without actually snitching."

"Oh."

There was a moment's silence whilst Ziva assimilated the implications; vexed by revealed näiveté, impressed with Tony's insider experience about shipboard life. And newly curious about precisely how he'd spent his spare time as Agent Afloat. She gave him a searching look which he returned – shameless charm daring her to ask.

Clearly he could read her thoughts and Ziva decided against giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. "Do you think he was involved with Taylor?"

"Maybe." Tony was slightly disappointed Ziva hadn't taken the bait.

"Supply Clerks organize the guest berths, like where we're sleeping. There's usually a side-line business. In my day…." – Pausing for creation of just the right amount of innuendo.

"Fifty bucks'd get you access for starters and it'd be a lot more…." He grinned wickedly. "For all night."

"We should consult Special Agent Lewis." – Steadfastly ignoring the invite. "Then we can question Carter again."

"OK." Tony nodded, looking at his watch. "We're due to check with civilization in about half an hour anyway."

* * *

><p>"Where is Special Agent Lewis?" Ziva looked up from the crime scene photos. "I thought she was joining us."<p>

Sitting in her quarters after dinner and the video conference with the Navy Yard, Tony and Ziva were reviewing the evidence. The update to H.Q. had been disheartening. Gibbs was comfortingly taciturn. The body had been shipped Stateside for Ducky and Abby's expertise – the results of which were still pending. Vance was grimly chafing for a swift wrap up. Despite the fact no-one could – as yet - definitively prove the death was criminal.

"She's got a backlog of paperwork." Tony was lying on one of the bunks, vaguely bored with the lack of concrete progress. "You saw her desk. Told her we'd kick this around and see if we could come up with anything."

Ziva tilted her head thoughtfully. "You are being very…." – Carefully selecting the appropriate word. "Lenient with her, Tony."

He sat up, gauging if Ziva was accusing him or merely passing a comment. "Yeah, she's a rookie."

"You were not so welcoming when I was a rookie." She closed the file and snapped the cap onto her pen.

"If you were ever a rookie you'd 've been about twelve. Zee-vah David: the Agent Prodigy, remember?" The affectionate reference to a stolen childhood covered his surprise at Ziva's frank declaration.

"Besides, it isn't the same. You were…." He ran a hand along his jaw - thinking of a suitable, yet innocuous description.

"In the employ of a foreign government?" Ziva smiled as she supplied the accurate detail. "A spy?"

There was a purpose in Ziva's analysis. Prompted by their late afternoon talk – by the unresolved disquiet engendered - she was classifying the evolution of the relationship. It was a pitifully logical attempt to retrace the tendrils of their entanglement for deeper comprehension; which, for Ziva, denoted regulated order and tighter control.

"Well, I was gonna say different but yeah, I'll give you that." Tony opted for meeting honesty with guarded honesty - uncertain of her motivations.

"You were….unpredictable, wilder. Actually, feral's more like it." - His grin taking the sting out of the amendment. "I didn't trust you, Zee-vah."

It was awfully simple to hang all the turmoil and conflict around the innocent neck of an uneasy alliance. Their clashing personalities and egos forced into coping under the handicap of natural mistrust. Instant, fundamental attraction transforming, with breathtaking speed, into a complex, intangible love-affair was a much more dangerous proposition; a conclusion which was to be overlooked at all costs.

"Nor I you." Ziva entered into the bargain of self-delusion.

Tony stood up and stretched. "You've gotta feel sorry for Lewis." - Re-directing the discussion into the original, less unsettling, sphere. "It's a fucking god-awful posting."

Two years after-the-fact and Tony still harbored severe resentment over being sent to sea. He had hated everything about the task.

Ziva laughed. "It cannot have been so unpleasant?"

"You're kidding me, right? A civilian locked in a tin can with thousands of military personnel. Nothing but petty crime."

He started listing the tedious duties. "Gambling, drugs, fights and minor theft." – Waving a hand at the file on Ziva's lap. "Or policing people's sex lives for Christ's sake."

His final grievance reanimated Ziva's earlier ponderings. Curiosity bested caution. "When you were on the carriers did you ever…."

Now a retraction wasn't feasible. Nevertheless, as Tony swung around to face her, Ziva found herself wishing she had exercised restraint. "I wondered if you were involved…had….were seeing anyone?"

"No." He looked quizzically at her.

Somehow they were circling relationships again. Tony felt as if he was taking a test repeatedly; almost like Ziva was expecting a particular answer from him. Either he kept flunking or she wasn't entirely sure of the question.

Part of Tony's unhappiness when Vance had decreed the re-assignment was unadulterated dislike for the job. Tony's opinion encapsulated by the rationale that if he'd wanted to spend time at sea he'd have joined the Navy himself, or taken up cruises - or bought a boat. The anonymous, more significant, complaint was the timing had been lousy – eventually nearly fatal. Immediately prior to Jenny's assassination, it appeared he and Ziva were on the verge of taking a step forward. Even a step sideways seemed a feasible possibility. The dizzying whirlpool swamping them would be quelled. Despite selective blindness to the reasons, Tony hadn't been interested in chasing casual sex. Then they'd been reunited and all hell broke loose shortly thereafter. The parallel with their current set up was uncanny – too uncanny to be acknowledged.

"I looked at the menu. I just didn't wanna order." He shrugged dismissively. "Why'd you…."

There was a knock on the door and a serious young woman walked in. "Are you the cops? The ones here about Taylor's death?" - A touch of scorn edged the name.

"Yes." Ziva answered for both of them. "And you are?"

"María, María Perez." She appeared very young and her uniform bore the insignia of a Hospital Corpsman. "You've been talking to Jay… to Petty Officer Carter?"

Tony and Ziva exchanged an imperceptible look when she slipped up over the name – adding his Rate as a belated nod to formality.

"We are conducting an investigation." Ziva assumed cool authority. "We are not at liberty to disclose details."

María Perez was nervous yet unfazed by the rebuke. "You've talked to him. I don't know what he told you." She twisted her fingers. "He had nothing to do with it."

"And you know this how?" – Tony studied her demeanor.

The nerves became more pronounced. "He wouldn't kill anyone."

As Tony was preparing a sharp put-down, the girl carried on with renewed determination. "Anyway, he was with me."

"Right." – Sarcastic doubt, alerted by the provision of a convenient alibi. "When and where?"

"The whole evening. I went on duty at twenty-two hundred and he was in his quarters before that." Tony glanced at Ziva who nodded – that part of the story checked out.

Ziva's manner became less curt. "Did anyone see you together?"

"We were alone." - Steadily looking her in the eye.

"Where?" Tony prodded for a complete response. It wasn't a case of good cop/bad cop. He was genuinely dubious and it showed.

The unwavering gaze faltered and she hesitated. "Here. We were in here."

Her head dropped and she blushed.

"We will have to verify your account, María." Ziva smiled encouragingly, trying to ease the young woman's discomfort.

The Ensign sighed. "Yes."

"You understand?" Her voice was kinder, more sympathetic – affected by Perez's loyalty. "We will have to reveal what you are saying?"

"Yes." – Resigned toward disciplinary action. "We'll be up on a charge." A plea replaced the anxiety. "Don't talk to Jay tonight?"

Tony cocked his head. "Why not? This is a possible murder." – Unmoved; additionally perturbed by Ziva's gentler approach.

"He's asleep." - Fixing her attention on Ziva, sensing an ally.

"Asleep?" Tony's raised eyebrows and scoffing tone heightened the incredulous query.

He was even more amazed when Ziva hissed his name, in reproach, under her breath.

"Yes. Asleep." María bristled, taking a step nearer to him. "The deck guys, with the extra Ops., they've all been working 'round the clock."

Her gaze reverted to Ziva. "He's exhausted. Please wait until tomorrow?"

Ziva didn't commit. "Do you have any other information for us? Perhaps you knew Petty Officer Taylor?"

"No." Once again animosity bubbled beneath the composure. "I didn't work with her."

She waited for a few moments, anticipating more questions. Instead, Tony motioned at the door with his head.

"OK, thanks for the help." - He turned away from Perez; unsubtly terminating the interview. "We'll be in touch."

After she left, Tony collapsed exaggeratedly against the bunk post, shaking his head - exasperated. "Jesus."

"Do you believe she is telling the truth?" Ziva was fiddling with the files; a singular, earnest quality in her tone.

"Let me go get my badge and gun and we'll see." - Pushing slightly upright.

The prospect of rudely hauling the young man - who at the bare minimum had been economical with the truth - out of bed was distinctly tempting. Ziva moved in front of him and caught his hand in unthinking prevention.

"Tony, he cannot leave." She released his fingers, suddenly self-conscious.

María Perez's guileless defense of her lover had struck an envious chord. A keen pang of an absence in her life startled Ziva. Her realization highlighted by the spontaneous physical touch – which was unnerving. "It can wait until the morning?"

The departing storm had bequeathed churning, mildly heavy seas in its wake; nothing the massive vessel couldn't handle. Sporadically a larger crest would strike, causing a more discernible rocking motion. As one such wave hit, the ship rolled. Tony, whose relaxed pose was already not quite balanced, braced his arm on the rail – otherwise he'd collide with Ziva. It was late and even before the lurch they were situated perilously close to each other.

"I guess so." - Concentrating on how not to concentrate on her proximity.

"You aren't getting domesticated on me, are you?" Tony was half-joking; perplexed at the peculiar softening in Ziva's attitude.

Seized by the disturbing possibility the 'Floridian friend' could have wrought this change in Ziva. The empathy between the two women might be merely an example of his burgeoning influence.

"No." She smiled up at him.

"If we wake him now, we will have to question him now." – Pacing away from Tony, faking a yawn and utilizing commonsense for diversion. "Tomorrow will do."

* * *

><p>"Please tell me you have something that's gonna release us from the life aquatic - preferably yesterday."<p>

Standing in the ship's Comms. room Tony was cradling a coffee - trying to appear more awake than he was. Ziva was working out in the gym whilst Tony conducted the hastily arranged conversation.

"Good morning Anthony." Ducky's cheery voice and smile beamed out of the screen. "Do I detect yearning for terra firma? Winston Churchill is alleged to have described the Royal Navy as nothing but rum, sodomy and the lash. Although some sources do suggest he included prayer…"

Tony pulled a face. "Uh Ducky? It's three minutes after six." - Interrupting the anecdote before the M.E.'s penchant for tangents gathered momentum. "Too early for rum and I'll pass on the rest, thanks."

"Ah, of course. Well there is no sign of any of those vices in our Petty Officer." Ducky methodically imparted his findings. "No alcohol or other substances. No physical injuries to speak of. The Sawbones was quite correct; a broken neck was cause of death."

He noticed Tony's disappointed expression. "There were traces of skin under the fingernails of her left hand. Insufficient for an easy identification, Abigail is working diligently on the problem. However, I can tell you the DNA belongs to a male."

"Defensive?" Tony hazarded a guess.

"Perhaps." This was the Scotsman's innately polite way of telling Tony he was probably wrong. "There is no indication of a struggle. A more plausible theory might be she grasped at someone."

Tony absorbed the new angle. "So someone pushed her, maybe. Or definitely saw the fall."

Ducky approved Tony's second deduction. "In all likelihood, someone else was present, yes."

"OK." - Grinning appealingly. "Get Abby a gallon of Caf-Pow if she pulls the match today."

He signaled 'cut' for the link just as Nicky joined him. "Anything from the autopsy? Or the lab.? We're not set up for those….."

"Maybe some forensics." Tony's short interjection wasn't homage to Gibbs. Rather it was an attempt to curtail Nicky's bright chirpiness – unwelcome at that hour. "You?"

Heading to meet up with Ziva, the agents swapped developments. Tony's assumption was correct. The victim had been earning a secondary income as a facilitator for any sexual antics, amongst other schemes. Tony's dampening efforts had no effect upon Nicky. He dispatched her to interview more of the crew. Living and working with them for an extended period meant she was familiar with who-knew-who and other insights. There was the added bonus of getting rid of the enthusiastic chatter.

"Petty Officer Jeremy Carter?" Tony tapped him between the shoulder blades. "Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo, NCIS, D.C."

When he chose, Tony could adopt an air of hardened, no-nonsense menace. The terse voice, full name and rank were a statement of intent. This was official, serious - Tony didn't want his time wasted.

"You already know Agent David." Another warning – Carter's first responses hadn't been satisfactory. There was an unyielding expectation Carter must improve for this round.

The tall, blonde man turned around. "We should get off here." – Indicating the noisy, busy flight deck.

As they walked toward relative quiet, away from the business end of the ship, Carter peeled off layers of protective gear, wearily rubbing a hand across his forehead. The acrid odor of aviation fuel, oil and sweat hung in the humidity.

"She talked to you. María came to see you, didn't she?" The blunt, direct question was a novel twist.

"Well, you talked to us too, Jeremy." - Quiet taunting in the comment. "Only you weren't telling the truth. Maybe she wasn't either?"

Carter brushed off the accusation. "I told her not to. Said she should stay outta it….but she's worried." A fond smile flashed and disappeared.

"Really?" Tony laughed mockingly. "Why is that?"

Carter stared at Tony. "She doesn't need to be scared, OK?" A Comms. device buzzed in his pocket – nagging for a return to duty. "María's got nothing to do with this."

He wasn't bothered; projecting self-containment and cool. More interested in protecting the girl than refuting any suspicions of culpability.

Ziva was observing him. Noting Carter's concern centered upon the medic - just as María's had for the Fire Control Tech. last night.

"Where were you four nights ago Petty Officer?" She was reserved, less antagonistic than Tony.

For this interrogation, the contrast was deliberate teamwork. "Were you with Ensign Perez?"

Carter fiddled silently with gloves - thinking. Then he glanced away into the distance. Apparently making a choice - assessing the risks and benefits involved.

"Look, I get the need for a little rack PT. Away for months, zero chance of getting laid." Patronizing and sardonic; Tony took advantage of his vacillation. "So you find a clearing barrel, slip Taylor a hundred bucks and…"

Tony's exceptionally nasty, derogatory barb struck its designated target. Aggression boiled; provoked by the labeling of Perez as an easy lay, available for anyone.

"It's not like that, you fucking smug bastard." Carter snapped angrily, stepping forward and getting in Tony's face.

Inwardly, Tony prepared to duck - it looked likely a punch would be thrown. He had calculated the insult; though Tony hadn't gambled on producing such a ferocious reaction. The young man hadn't seemed excessively hot-headed - until that moment.

"OK." - Instantly downplaying the tension with neutral understanding. Tony grabbed Carter's shoulder and firmly pushed him back a couple of paces. "So tell us how it is."

"We were together. I didn't kill Taylor." Defiant resentment still smoldering, he pulled the two-way radio from a pocket. "We done here?"

Tony was amused by the cocky attitude. "No. We're investigating a murder, you dealt with the vic., you lied." - Pausing for the calm lecture to take effect. "Plus it's against regs. - and you know it."

Carter surrendered, holding up the device. "Let me take care of this?" Tony nodded.

Whilst he placated the Air Officer demanding an explanation for his abrupt absence from the flight deck, Tony and Ziva shared a conspiratorial smile. Carter finished his excuses and turned to face them.

"Why did you lie to me?" Ziva re-opened the line of questioning. Total innocence was still not quite established.

"'Cause I've done nothing wrong." The logic was a little fuzzy and he expanded the explanation. "You people know what you're doing, yeah? So you'll figure it out and María's none of your business."

It was a straightforward yet thoroughly convincing pretext. Marginally attached to the death, his primary aim was keeping an illicit relationship secret. Carter's confidence was born out faith in the system. Ironically, Tony adhered to the same belief. When an intern had suggested he could enjoy a more prosperous, more glamorous career in the private sector, Tony's retort was 'then who'd catch the bad guys' – without a trace of sly self-deprecation.

"I am afraid it is our business." Ziva pressed the issue. "Did you see Petty Officer Taylor on the day she died?"

"I saw Taylor around 18:30 that night. I paid her, arranged for the guest quarters. We wanted…." Carter stopped awkwardly.

"Yeah, we got that part." Grinning, Tony filled in the blank.

Carter shook his head. "I told you, it's not like that. I mean it is….that as well. We just wanted to be alone." – Irritation brewing again. "We met at Great Lakes during basic. Stayed in touch, then we were stationed close by and….We've been dating nearly two years. I work up top in crash and smash, she's below with the medics – the rule's dumb."

Ziva frowned, touched by the tale. Living in cramped conditions must be hard enough – the enlisted bunks were stacked in tiers of three, sixty to a compartment. Any chance of solitude or privacy would be valuable commodities – even more so if you were in love. Sex or not, it would be worth paying for a few quiet hours with your girlfriend. Unbidden, recollections of the previous night and Tony - the man, not the colleague – popped into her head.

"'Til there's an accident on the flight deck, something happens to you. Or the hospital takes a hit." Tony injected a dose of unsentimental practicality into the impassioned justification. "And then it's a big problem."

"So it wouldn't be tough if one of my buddies, ones I work alongside all the time, was hurt?" Carter was undeterred, glancing at Ziva.

"Are you telling me you wouldn't be upset if something happened to him?" - Pointing at Tony.

Erroneously presuming they were just partners, the younger man inadvertently drew an unfortunate analogy. Taken aback, Ziva's dissociative façade cracked.

"I….he….Our work….it is different. We are on the same team." Finally stringing together a coherent sentence, she admonished primly. "You are in violation of the Naval Ethics' Code."

He shrugged carelessly. "We've talked about it, faced it this time out." The deployment had taken them to a war-zone.

"We handle working on the same ship – for now anyways." – Smiling diffidently. "I'm gonna propose in a little while."

The two early twenty-somethings were exhibiting a greater level of maturity in conducting their relationship – working and romantic – than Tony and Ziva had ever managed in five years. Partly it was because their situation was less complicated. Mostly it was because they weren't afraid and they didn't communicate via inept encryption or mixed signals.

"Do you know who else might have been contributing to Taylor's fun fund?" Tony dragged the oddly disconcerting discussion on topic.

Ziva's cell rang. "Abby." – Announcing the caller and listening intently to the burbling report before nodding at Tony. "She has a name for us."

* * *

><p>The name belonged to a married Junior Officer. Taylor and he had an affair before he moved on to numerous further conquests. Jilted and vengeful, as shore-leave loomed, the Petty Officer threatened to tell his wife – unless he paid for silence. In the course of a highly heated argument, she missed her footing at the top of a companionway and fell. An accident; at least the Lieutenant swore he'd only tried to catch her arm. In truth, no-one could ever be certain which left a bad taste in Tony, Ziva and Nicky Lewis' mouths. The journalist was persuaded a tragic mishap wasn't really worth the column inches; saving lives made for much better press. And Special Agent Lewis concluded the office scuttlebutt didn't do nearly enough justice to whatever was going on, not going on - or both - between Tony and Ziva.<p>

Waiting on the flight deck for the all clear, Tony spotted Carter. Just as readiness was declared, he held up his hand, requesting a few minutes longer. Climbing into the helicopter, Ziva looked over her shoulder and watched them chatting. She could only make out a couple of words; 'Do it right' and C.O.'

"What did you say to him?" Harmless interest initiated the inquiry.

Tony's summary was flippant. "Told him one of them needs to find a new ship or, better yet, another career-path."

"You are a romantic." Her mouth twitched into a smile as she made the proclamation; remarkably delighted by confirmation of a long held suspicion. There was an alter ego beneath Tony's cynical, dissolute shell.

"No, Zee-vah, I'm realistic." Rejecting the compliment, Tony elaborated his objections. "They're gonna get caught. When they do, they get busted down a pay-grade and fined several thousand dollars."

He met Ziva's eyes briefly. "They're pretty much at the bottom as is. It's stupid, that's all." - Blocking any inference of care behind the intervention.

Then Tony leaned forward, staring out of the open door as they lifted airborne. "That's the kinda stuff you think through when you ask someone to marry you."

Ziva contemplated the implications of his foray into responsible, shrewd wisdom. She noted the reflective expression and strange hint of very personal feeling in his voice.

"That and whether she considers a big screen t.v. life-support or a luxury." Tony grinned. "'cause that's a deal-breaker." - Straightening up and leaning into his seat, Tony closed his eyes and the window of Ziva's opportunity.

The tantalizing glimpse into his past, his vulnerable and complex self, vanished before she could connect with him.

The first mistakes: Tony and Ziva should have advanced the intimate discourse opened in the past twenty-four hours. They should have addressed the undertow of latent desire which surfaced in the cabin. They should have broached the subject of Ray or Tony's allusion to near-miss marriage. Instead they deferred; hiding behind deflector shields. Burying the potential for progress and pretending all was well.

* * *

><p><strong>Huge thanks for the reviews and alerts. Likesdislikes, good/bad & other comments are awfully helpful and always encouraging. As ever, make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	3. All The Devils

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain. **

**Happy, a little late, U.S. Thanksgiving! **

**The dates of the 'Enemies' episodes only dawned after it was nearly written and I amended the chapter a bit. **

**I did mess with the time-frame to make it all fit. **

**The usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>For Hell is empty and all the devils are here."<em>

_William Shakespeare_

**November 2010**

McGee groaned.

"What is wrong, McGee?" Ziva looked across the squad-room, a small frown of concern on her face.

She was perched against the partition, behind Tony's desk, as they researched backgrounds on a case.

"Nothing." Their colleague sighed. "Except they've changed the Thanksgiving duty assignments." – Staring disconsolately at his screen. "I'm down to cover."

"Is Charlie Brown worried he'll miss the Great Pumpkin?" Tony smirked.

"No Tony, my sister's coming." There was a little hint of complaint at the lack of sympathy in his voice. "Well she thinks she might."

His sister was unreliable and somewhat disorganized in her lifestyle. However, the occasion was less than a week away and there was no cancelation - yet. He had been hopeful of a sibling get-together this year. And no-one would find the prospect of having a four day weekend sliced in half appealing.

"I am sorry." Ziva made up for Tony's unfeeling quip. "Perhaps Sarah could come to the Navy Yard for a few hours? I am sure it will be quiet and you could order in Holiday food."

She smiled brightly at the Junior Agent as she offered the band-aid solution. "It would not be the same but it would be better than spoiling her trip completely, yes?"

Slowly Tony rotated his chair around and looked speculatively at Ziva. She was doing it again. Taking what he would describe as a 'feely-touchy' approach to the problems of others.

It wasn't that Ziva was cold or unemotional. Contrary to the popularly circulated rumor, she was exceedingly tenderhearted. However, this characteristic was masked and subdued beneath a layer of usually unflappable logic. Tony – far more than anyone else – was aware of her caring nature. And he recognized the delicate dynamic which propelled her behavior.

Ziva had been raised and trained to resist indulging feelings. They were a weakness; an immaterial, dangerous distraction. She could – should - exploit and manipulate them in others; she must never leave herself at risk for reciprocal treatment. Ziva's conditioned response to McGee's plight would be a steady reminder of their obligations as Federal Agents; stoic commiseration for a set of unlucky, but necessary, circumstances.

"Why don't you launch a covert op. against the pardoned turkey and then you could bring La Famiglia McGee dinner?" Tony's opening gambit was a mix of curiosity and teasing.

Ziva tilted her head. "As it happens, Tony, I will be cooking a Thanksgiving dinner – my first." – A sweet flash of anticipation and pride tinged the comment.

Ziva was, as Abby termed it, a kick-ass cook and she enjoyed the pastime immensely.

Tony's initial, encouraging - though typical – rejoinder was still-born when she added. "I have company coming."

"Who?" His careful, one word, question indicated Tony had a pretty good idea of the identity.

The month had already reached its quota of unwanted visitors. Earlier Tony's father had cruised into town resembling an aging, incorrigible Pied Piper. Schmoozing and conning his way through the middle of an investigation. Tony's relationship with his father was a difficult blend of affection and annoyance fossilized by the passage of time.

Salt was very effectively rubbed into the wound by the indignity of watching the old man accompany Ziva to a high-powered cocktail function. Whilst Tony was left undecided – from the alluring peek of cleavage on view – whether she was wearing any underwear at all beneath the clinging dress, his father's wandering hands would have provided the debonair trickster with absolute confirmation.

"A friend is visiting." Ziva's remark was too casual.

Tony leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "A friend; how nice." – Pleasant, sharply false, enthusiasm in his voice. "A friend? Or the friend?"

"Yes." The retort was a text-book dodge as she regretted opening the topic.

"Yes to which one?" Tony pressed.

Her news was disheartening. For the past few weeks, Tony thought he'd detected a reduction in contact between Ziva and 'the Unsub.' The back and forth email and IM chats had seemed to cease. Clearly, communications had advanced into a different forum. Additionally, it was a relatively last minute development; a couple of days ago, Ziva had no definite plans for the extended break.

"Yes, a friend." Irked by his manner, she persisted with smart-alec wordplay. "Yes, the friend who will be visiting Washington."

"Visiting Washington or you, Zee-vah?" Tony cocked his head.

"Both." She sighed in frustration; moving from the partition and walking past his desk. "His job is bringing him to Washington and I will see him."

Her comment was a vexed admission. Ziva had been surprised when Ray 'phoned and announced the plan – his duties for the CIA seemed to keep him in Miami. The contact between them had been constant but low-key and still purely platonic. She was looking forward to seeing him. However, this was just dinner and Ray certainly wasn't staying at her apartment.

"He's gonna be in D.C.? Working? For the Thanksgiving weekend?" There was a deliberate, disbelieving pause between each phrase.

Now Tony's hackles were really raised; though he failed, singularly, in appreciation of the rationale. The nation's capital would resemble a ghost town in terms of employees – their places taken by tourists and sightseers. Most Federal offices would be closed or operating skeleton staff. The busy hub of national and international interests briefly hushed. Ziva's friend would be hard pressed to find anyone with whom to work.

The sudden discovery of a work-related trip was an obvious ploy for visiting Ziva. The entire country was moving heaven and earth to be with family. If the friend didn't have any family, that was most unfortunate and the guy should set about finding some immediately. As far away from Washington as possible; the moon would be an eminently suitable place in which to start.

She stopped and turned around, hands on hips. "Yes, Tony. Why not? McGee will be in D.C. Working. For the Thanksgiving weekend." – Acidly mimicking his delivery.

"And yet, despite this urgent workload, he can find time for dinner." Ziva's point was valid and Tony sarcastically shifted the focus. "At your place?"

It was a ridiculous argument which neither of them could win. Tony's objections and Ziva's justifications stemmed from more complex issues than who was spending time with whom. Unfortunately, they shunned analyzing the cause and embraced the pattern of friction. Discord was a familiar, manageable outlet for other suppressed emotions.

"I am being hospitable for my friend." Her sentiment was genuine. "He will be away from home during a holiday."

Ray had offered dinner at an expensive restaurant. On an impulse, Ziva made the invite – as a way of returning the favor for his assistance and attention during the summer. Moreover, under the barrage of seasonal images and advertising, sometimes she experienced the twinge of emptiness which had occurred on the ship.

The glowing representation of families and close affinities sparked a tentative, confused search for a missing element. Ziva wanted to spend the Holiday with someone. Not romantically – she didn't view it as a date – she would simply be at home, with someone. Tony's reaction didn't aid in solving the muddled longing. Instead it honed the jab of unidentified dissatisfaction.

"Just a friend in need, huh?" Tony considered the development strictly from the perspective of a guy; namely himself.

Once inside her apartment, a relaxed atmosphere, a few glasses of wine meant Ziva and her friend would be – inevitably - waking up together on Friday morning. It was a strangely discomfiting notion.

"So what's his contribution to this little friendship party gonna be?" Tony's eyes ran the length of her body; the grin was purely salacious. "What are you in need of Zee-vah?"

Although Ziva was seeking companionship, not sex – Tony's snide, knowing observation was sort of accurate. Irritated and perturbed because he understood – and because he didn't - Ziva resumed the path to her side of the squad-room.

To begin with, McGee had ignored the squabble. It was just Tony and Ziva needling each other because Tony and Ziva needled each other. Since they showed no sign of an imminent truce and the mood was becoming distinctly charged, he intervened – in pursuit of a more peaceful morning.

"How about you? Someplace with pretty girls dressed up like turkeys?" – Still smarting from Tony's earlier lack of solidarity, McGee teased on the Senior Agent's reputation.

"Congratulations, McGee, your imagination's improving." - Glancing across at him. "Tempting, but no. Missoura." Tony adopted an atrocious Mid-Western accent. "I'm gonna see Tom and Juliet."

Tom was one of Tony's closest friends – he'd known him for over fifteen years. They'd been cops in Peoria; stationed at the same precinct. As Tony had moved East, up the scale and into the big leagues, Tom had moved West and down-sized. Married to a teacher, with four children, he was now the very contented Chief of Police for a small town in the Show-me-State.

Tony didn't always visit during a holiday. And his trips were more frequent – perhaps once or twice a year - now the children were well past the leaky, sticky, bringer-of-destruction phases. The two men had an on-going competition for who'd investigated the weirdest case since the last stay – it really was surprising how often Tom won – the loser paying for a boys' night out. Tony would make fun of summonses for improperly positioned lawn ornaments. Tom would declare Federal Agents were always busy because they couldn't find their own asses with two hands, in broad daylight.

"Haven't been out there for a while and I've got…one, two…" - Theatrically counting the total on his fingers. "FIVE days leave." Hiding how much he was looking forward to going by triumphantly taunting McGee.

"You know, Tony, I'm sure there's some kind of modification therapy available for that gloating spasm of yours." McGee drily refused to be baited.

"But…" Tony switched his attention back to Ziva, renewing the mocking tone. "If I was here in Washington, I could meet Zee-vah's special friend."

"Well you will not be here." - Sitting at her desk, sounding matter-of-factly victorious.

"Maybe I will be." Tony was returning Monday afternoon – he wasn't flying out until Wednesday night. "When does he hit town?"

"You will not meet him this time." She firmly denied any possibility their paths might cross.

"Why not?" - Leaning forward, across his desk, Tony posed the plain, abruptly direct, question.

She was caught off guard. "I have never met the friends you are visiting."

Her parallel was a quick-thinking parry. It was also annoyingly unfair. Tony hadn't kept his friends away from Ziva; there had never been an opportunity for introduction.

"That's 'cause they live in the middle of fucking nowhere." - Exasperated and nettled by her implication. "And have four kids. They don't exactly pop up to D.C. for a weekend getaway very often."

Gibbs walked purposefully into the bull-pen. "The girl's talking – get on surveillance. And we got three bodies from the Coast Guard in Florida."

November's triumvirate of unwelcome guests was on the verge of completion.

* * *

><p>"I wish to use the bathroom."<p>

As the elevator pinged its arrival, Liat made her sulky request. The journey to the Navy Yard was sourly civil. The two teams acting like estranged relatives at a funeral; observing all the proprieties whilst each faction itched for an escape – in order to start the bitching sessions. Even McGee's normally affable temperament was flattened beneath an aura of suspicious annoyance.

"Very well." Ziva had been locked in taut contemplation since the discovery of the Israeli team and the tactical sparring in the alley. "Follow me, please."

"Ladies first." Tony stood aside, next to the control panel, when the doors opened.

Then McGee exited, following them automatically in the belief he and Tony would escort Ben-Gidon to the conference room between them. His back foot had barely cleared the threshold when Tony hit the door close button - flipping the hold key before the car could continue its descent. And the reason for Tony's maneuver, apart from inherent chivalry, became apparent.

"Let's get one thing straight." He spun around, leaning into the Mossad Officer's space, his voice deadly quiet. "Go after her again, criticize her again and I'll fucking break you. Understood?"

Malachi had never rated Tony in particularly high esteem. Mossad was an organization staffed with human beings which– just as at NCIS - dictated tribal loyalty. The Tel Aviv agency whispered Tony had only been able to take out Michael Rivkin because Rivkin had been three sheets to the wind. Ben-Gidon dutifully ascribed to the myth. He had never rated Rivkin either – believing him uncouth and irresponsible.

Tony's extremely aggressive yet tightly controlled snarl instantly changed his mind. Malachi caught sight of the man who'd extracted Ziva from Saleem's camp. Reminded of the fact the agent was one of the team which had eradicated the terrorist, his supporters and their stronghold. The mission Malachi's expert Kedon unit had been tasked with fulfilling. His urbane exterior ruffled and he recoiled against the wall – nodding acquiescence.

The doors opened for the second time, Tony rolled his head around his shoulders and grinned apologetically at a waiting McGee. "Wrong button."

In Tony's opinion, Malachi should have been hauled over the coals for gross dereliction of duty – he'd abandoned Ziva. Totally partisan in the condemnation; Ziva's temperament, Ben-Gidon's injury, or their compatriot's more serious wounds didn't factor as legitimate excuses. Quite simply, Ben-Gidon should never have let Ziva out of his sight.

As yet, no-one knew why there was a Mossad team in their territory. However, the spiteful swipes at Ziva had already stretched Tony's tolerance beyond its boundary. The intention behind accosting the Mossad Officer was two-fold. Firstly, Tony wanted him left harboring no illusions; here Ziva was fiercely protected. Moreover, he had astutely concluded Ben-Gidon would keep Liat in check. He wasn't worried by Liat. McGee's thoughtless comment the girl was the 'new Ziva' was completely wrong. Liat wasn't even a decent portrait of the old Ziva. She might have some of the fearsome skills - she definitely had some of the attitude - but that's where the likeness ended. Liat possessed few of Ziva's other qualities.

* * *

><p>"You didn't know?"<p>

As the report of Eli David's pending arrival filtered out, hasty preparations absorbed much of the time. Gibbs disappeared, Vance was tied up with his conference and the MCRT went into crisis mode. When Tony finally snatched an interlude with Ziva, she was pacing in the stairwell – lost in thought.

"No, Tony." Spitting out the reply, temper flaring – hurt by the inference of deceit over Mossad's activities. "I did not know."

He wanted to ask if she was OK. She wasn't and he knew it; the tense, kinetic energy radiating from her and the dark look in Ziva's eyes all indicated tremendous strain. However, Tony couldn't ask because the inquiry would be increased pressure. When troubled, Ziva did detached, rational – not vulnerable. The screen always registered self-discipline and iron subjugation of emotions.

Any perception she was betraying that rigid display would only magnify her distress. All he could do was alter the backlight, adjust the contrast setting from light to dark and make her mad. In inciting a reaction, Tony permitted Ziva to release some of the pent-up turmoil and maintain the fiction of ambivalence toward seeing her father.

"Sorry. Figured a plague of locusts might've invaded your apartment or the faucets started dripping blood." - Studying her demeanor, he leaned back against the wall – hands in pockets. "Isn't that what usually happens when Hell misplaces one of its own?"

"This is not funny." – Dismissing the joke in a snapped rebuke.

"There is a terrorist cell targeting Washington, Mossad agents are conducting a mission." - Listing the problems as if Tony hadn't grasped the gravity of the situation. "There is a high profile conference of NCIS directors. Our security resources are stretched. Protection duties…..

"And your father will be here." – Calmly declaring the one item she was avoiding.

Its omission and the cause of that absence were painfully obvious – she didn't trust herself not to reveal churning disquiet. Tony made the pronouncement in order that Ziva didn't have to risk mentioning the subject.

"Yes." She stopped moving, her head down as she stared at the floor.

"Director Vance wishes to see me." - Uncertainty slipping into her voice. "He will remove me from the case."

Such an action would be twisting the knife. It would cast doubt on Ziva's cherished capabilities; she couldn't remain impartial, professional. The humiliating suggestion of incompetency created in full view of Eli. Moreover, it would leave a disastrous gap – too much time for brooding. Tony didn't believe Gibbs would allow the measure.

"He probably wants a little insight on Dumb and Dumber back there." Tony inclined his head in the direction of the bull-pen.

"It takes a thief and all that." - Grinning reassuringly. "Or in this case, a crazy assassin."

Ziva glanced up at him, realizing she was regaining composure. The swirling fog clouding her mind was coalescing into order. Unobtrusively, with charm and his presence, Tony was supplying her with desperately required steadiness. It was a dimly recognized, exceedingly confusing idea.

A weak smile dispelled some of the shadows haunting her expression.

"I do not like this. The command structure will be unclear." - Shaking her head. "Mossad cooperation is untrustworthy. Any joint operation with them is a mistake."

Tony took a couple of steps nearer, holding her gaze for a second.

"Oh I don't know." His voice was low and soft. "The last time there was a Mossad Liaison with NCIS it turned out pretty well for us."

"I was lucky too." Ziva's quiet answer was equally sincere.

The mysterious, exclusive cloak briefly enveloped them; an unguarded moment of exposure wrapping them together in a private bond. Tony's meaning – though not precisely personal - was explicit and Ziva didn't reject the notion.

Nevertheless, time was ticking away - the demands of events shrieked in the background of the encounter. Ziva began moving toward the squad room and the connection dropped. Tony accompanied her to the bottom of the staircase before dealing with the Israelis. On her way to Vance's office, Ziva could hear the next round of exchanges beginning and laughed.

"Who could possibly want Eli dead?" His question was full of irrepressible goading.

"Director David." Liat waspishly corrected the disrespectful title.

Tony grimaced in derision. "Whatever."

* * *

><p>Tony's threat proved most effective. Malachi acquitted himself admirably over the next few days. Restricting his complaints to ones aimed generally at NCIS – not Ziva - and restraining Liat's outbursts. Three attacks, an enthralling snapshot of Special Agent Vance – before he became a suit – plus one death meant everyone was left somewhat stunned. The atmosphere in the Navy Yard was one of immense gratitude as the fraught investigation concluded.<p>

Tony showed the Israelis into the Director's office – where Gibbs was ensconced. That in itself was a bizarre occurrence. The former Marine was a natural leader yet coveted no promotion to the Director's post. There was too much political machination, bureaucracy and paperwork for his taste. However, until Vance recovered, he would be the de facto man in the chair.

"DiNozzo, conference room." Gibbs' growl held no clue as to the reason for the instruction.

When Tony opened the door, any sense of shell-shock over recent happenings paled into insignificance against the jarring sight which greeted him. Standing at one end of the table - apparently waiting for Tony - was Eli David.

"Now this, this is what I'd call an assembly room." – Covering his surprise with a taunting allusion to the interview at Mossad H.Q.

"Let's see, we've got t.v., 'phone, refreshments, painted walls, even plants." The viciously polite litany was unrelenting. "Windows and…Oh hey look, no armed thugs outside." - Opening the door with a dramatic flourish.

"Want me to adjust that sling for you?" – Indicating Eli's dressing. "Just, you know, in a spirit of mutual discussion."

Eli impassively withstood the onslaught; he expected this reaction. The last – only – time the two men had met Eli interrogated Tony; about Rivkin's death, about Tony's motivations and about Ziva. Using the considerable might of his position as the Director of Mossad Eli had tried intimidating Tony. Actually inflicting minor physical harm; compressing his broken arm and grabbing his throat.

Tony had remained steadfastly impudent and insolent throughout. Eventually causing Eli's patience to snap and adroitly proving his innocence. Eli was forced into conceding Tony had killed his Officer in self-defense, rather than a rage of unrequited love. Nevertheless, the Director of Mossad, privately, believed jealousy had also played a rôle.

"And you are wearing an exceptionally well-cut suit, Special Agent DiNozzo." Eli's droll riposte informed Tony the message was clear. "Now I should inquire as to the name of your tailor, yes?"

They squared off for a moment. Eli had an inch in height over Tony; in his younger days as an operative, he must have made a very imposing figure. Yet now he seemed tired and worn – much older than the passage of two years should show.

"Sit down." – Casually waving his hand at a seat. Eli David never said please.

Tony wasn't in the mood for niceties. "No thanks."

He strode to the other end of the room; partly as a signal this was his turf and he wasn't obeying orders. Partly that he could mask a huge, internal 'WTF?' whilst he tried to figure out why he'd been summoned by Ziva's father.

"Hmn." Eli's little snort and rueful smile were mildly amused; as though Tony were a rebellious child, taking a stand for the sake of making a point.

He pulled out a chair and sat down; leaning back and getting comfortable.

"You asked to see me?" Tony didn't know for sure but it was the only likely explanation.

He propped himself against the counter; arms folded and one leg crossed in front of the other. The relaxed, lounging pose matching his expression; which was an extraordinary blend of recalcitrance and disengaged boredom.

"I did." Eli nodded.

Everything he did, every gesture or word was carefully and exactly executed. The rich, mellifluous voice rarely altered cadence – merely contained more or less passion depending on the topic.

He took a slow, deep breath and glanced out of the window. "I wished to acknowledge your contribution in the removal of Al-Masri."

Both Tony and Ziva had shot the PRF leader and, in spite of Ziva's misgivings, it had been a successful – not always smooth – joint operation. He was unconvinced by Eli's rationale. Although, he resolved if McGee had already been subjected to one of these acknowledgments and not warned him, Tony was going to scare the shit out of the Junior Agent – next opportunity he got. He remained stonily silent.

"He is the second terrorist threat you have neutralized." - Pausing on purpose. "Thus saving lives. Mossad is not unimpressed by your actions." This time he looked at Tony directly.

Tony stared back coldly. "It's my job."

The veiled reference to Saleem couldn't be a coincidence - Tony was one of Gibbs' protégés. Moreover, it was improbable Eli David would fall prey to anything remotely coincidental - ever. It sounded as if Eli was bestowing oblique gratitude for Ziva's rescue. The vague phrase 'saving lives' could include Eli's life, or those of potential general victims – or Ziva's life. Discounting the last unsettling idea, Tony waited for whatever angle her father was working.

Eli David was a deeply complex personality. In common with most people he was an amalgam of vice and virtue. Unlikely as it seemed, he and Tony shared more than a love of sartorial elegance and bespoke tailoring. Tony's devil-may-care attitude was nearly identical to Eli's sang-froid in the face of danger. A trait most recently exhibited by using himself as bait.

He was intelligent, could be very charming and was remarkably gifted in judging people or situations. Like Tony, Eli could be extremely tough and ruthless. He was undoubtedly arrogant, supremely self-confident. However, these qualities combined and manifested themselves differently within each man. Superficially, they were so similar that the disparities took on enormous significance.

Reaching for one of the upturned glasses in the middle of the table and the pitcher, Eli poured a glass of water. "You are close to Ziva still?"

Tony stiffened. "I think you gave up the right to ask if my intentions are honorable right about the time you left her to die."

"Do you have intentions toward my daughter, Agent DiNozzo?" - Raising his eyebrows as he took a sip.

The discussion was becoming a verbal - borderline demented - tennis match. Tony's flippant comment was intended to be a barbed critique of Eli's failures as a father. The attempt lost some of its impetus with Eli's pleasantly interested volley. And Tony opted for netting the ball – he didn't reply.

"I did not leave her to die…." Eli refuted; taking off his glasses with his customary care. The man was, essentially, a study in stillness; minimal, deliberate movements.

"Seriously?" Tony interrupted, laughing mockingly.

"'Cause it sure looked that way from where I was sat. You know, actually in the terrorists' camp, when she was all beat up." He paused for control, cooling his temper. "With Saleem's knife to her throat." - Temporarily thrown off-balance by recalling the scene and the most frightening moment of the entire undertaking.

"Have you ever considered our search must be kept invisible?" Eli intoned. "That if her identity, my daughter's identity…." - Stressing the last three words, Tony's attitude was beginning to grate. "Became known, became available, in trying to locate her, the consequences for Ziva would be worse?"

Tapping the fingers of one hand on the table, Eli shook his head. "Ziva would not yield that intelligence."

Tony's jaw clenched at the dispassionate appraisal of her resistance. The suggestion it was assumed as standard, not noteworthy.

"Jesus Christ, how hard were you trying?" Equilibrium slipped and incredulous, sardonic anger burst into his voice. "You had the fucking coordinates for the camp."

Tony hadn't considered the fact Eli's actions might be curtailed by the need for circumspection. If word escaped the Director of Mossad's daughter was being held, her ill-treatment would increase exponentially. He was unmoved by the defense; it was simply further evidence she had paid excessively for her father's position.

Eli was rearranging the glasses and pitcher as though they were pieces on a chessboard. "If our efforts were detected, she could be removed from Somalia altogether, bartered by a minor figure and handed over to more powerful enemies."

He looked up at Tony, the trace of tolerance in his voice implying the younger man had an imperfect comprehension of the realities. "We may have lost track of her completely…."

"So instead you just left her there." Tony's summary was harsh and scornful.

"My best team had not succeeded. Asking for outside assistance would concede defeat." Eli continued stating his case, impervious to the accusation.

"Mossad's reputation would be damaged and" – Half closing his eyes in realistic assessment. "We are not always trusted….."

"Shocker. How'd that happen?" Bitingly sarcastic, Tony cut short the commentary.

Eli studied Tony for a few minutes, his head on one side, and settled back into the chair once more. Tony's manner of contemptuous indifference had vanished completely. He was exuding quietly seething resentment at the cold, calculated decision to sacrifice Ziva.

In truth, Ziva's father wasn't really concerned whether Tony accepted his justifications or not. Which was fortunate really, since Tony most definitely didn't. Eli David had been immersed in the intelligence community for more years than he cared to remember. In Eli's world there were no big or little pictures. Only the picture – a constantly shifting, murky composition and it never left his vision. Furthermore, the issue of Ziva's captivity was merely the warm-up game; establishing Tony's credentials for another difficulty.

* * *

><p><strong>Huge thanks for the reviews and alerts.<strong>

**Reviews for this chapter would be very wonderful. ****It's always nice to hear if you're enjoying the story – or if you're not. What worked/what didn't, good/bad comments really are helpful and appreciated.**


	4. Do We Not Bleed

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain. **

**OK, a very wee cliff-hanger at the end of the last chapter. I couldn't decide between one long one or two shorter ones. With luck, I made the right choice for balance. Feel free to let me know if I didn't.**

**The usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?"<em>

_William Shakespeare_

**November 2010**

"What do you know of this man with whom my daughter is involved?"

It was an impeccably conceived, beautifully executed ambush; an elegant exercise in psychological guerrilla warfare. Her father had enticed Tony from his fortress of disdainful forbearance in an antithesis of the encounter in Tel Aviv. Eli used the subject of his own stance on Ziva's imprisonment for an instrument – and had provoked Tony's temper. With the suspected weakness probed, Eli had expanded his advantage and outflanked Tony.

"That's it." Tony straightened immediately and began walking out. "This conversation's over."

Eli held up a hand imperiously. "I do not possess the Wisdom of Solomon." – Nodding in recognition of this flaw, a serious edge in the deep voice. "I have made mistakes."

Tony's back was to Eli, reaching for the door handle. He rolled his eyes, muttering cynically, 'yeah, staying alive being one of them' under his breath.

If Ziva's father heard, he didn't react.

"Mistakes cannot be avoided – only learnt from." His stillness took on a predatory quality, although his tone remained incredibly even. "I wonder what mistakes you might regret, Agent DiNozzo?"

The candid confession of fallibility and, more importantly, the enigmatic hypothetical arrested Tony's departure. Eli was nothing if not an arch manipulator. Tony turned around and walked over to the table. Belatedly, he recognized the tactic; one he had employed on countless occasions. Distract the person, rattle them and then strike. Pulling out a chair, Tony sat opposite Eli - the interrogation room format.

"OK. I'm listening." The chair was slightly angled in relation to the table. Tony was slouched a little, his legs extended and one arm resting on the table. Although the body language was arrogantly casual, his expression was full of unmistakably level-headed, watchful curiosity.

"She has discussed the relationship with you?" Having thoroughly succeeded in his aim of gaining Tony's attention, Eli resumed the air of easy lethargy.

"That's between me and Zee-vah." Unsure of the objective, Tony blocked – neither denying nor confirming the charge. The depiction of an actual relationship was unpleasant.

He chewed his cheek, studying Eli. "I said listening, remember?" – Cocking his head with an icily pleasant smile.

This was Eli's game; Tony was going to make him play the ball. He could do effortless non-cooperation all day.

Eli nodded. Then he glanced away, inhaling through his nostrils.

"You do not like me, this I understand." The remark was a clinical statement; neither offended, nor conciliatory.

"Is it because my son murdered Special Agent Todd? Or because he tried to kill Special Agent Gibbs?" - Adjusting the signet ring on his left hand. "Because of Officer Rivkin's misconduct?"

It was a practical, open inventory of potential grievances – until the tiny, meaningful hook at the end.

"Or is it because you believe I have harmed Ziva?" – Shooting a long, penetrating look at Tony.

This time Tony didn't take the bait.

"Take your pick." – Smooth condescension highlighting there were, indeed, many reasons Tony despised Ziva's father. And placing the onus on Eli – he should form his own opinions.

The criticism of Michael Rivkin was unexpected. More so was the inclusion of Ari and the clearly discernible somber tinge in Eli's voice. Tony was surprised by both the mood and the claim of paternity. At times, Ziva's family ties bore more than a passing resemblance to the Borgias. He assumed Ari's love-child origins, tormented personality and treachery toward his father would nullify his pedigree as Eli's son.

"Of course." The flicker of emotion disappeared and Eli smartly answered Tony's challenge. "I choose the latter."

"And what if I said you're wrong?" Despite being caught off guard, Tony coolly bounced the point, meeting Eli's look with a steady gaze.

"Then I would insist you give me your word upon the matter." - An easy deuce.

Tony had given his word that Rivkin's shooting was not the result of malice-aforethought. Integrity was exceedingly important to him; Eli was keenly aware of Tony's personal principle.

There were a few minutes of an oddly equable lull as each pondered their next strategies. Tony stared at the t.v. screen whilst Eli precisely repositioned his water glass a fraction of an inch.

"Why'd you wanna know about him?" Tony decided to fight fire with fire; he was also a talented interrogator. Moreover, the renewed spotlight on his particular connection with Ziva was making him uncomfortable.

"It is all about perspective." Eli adopted Gibbs' phrase.

He was intrigued and entertained by the former Marine's unique approach. The gruff, deceptively straightforward, outlook was refreshing. "I have learned from many mistakes and wish to apply that knowledge in this instance. There are questions."

Ziva's father had access to a wide variety of data, from innumerable sources. Recently, certain intelligence had appeared as a small blot on Eli's horizon. He had a mind like a steel trap – with the emphasis on steel. There was an intersection of interests and he intended to take advantage of this state of affairs. Naturally, because he was Eli David, his motivations spanned several categories; none of which needed sharing with Tony.

"Well, if you want answers, you should probably get Zee-vah to give them to you." There was a little smugness at the unlikely prospect.

And Tony wasn't moving from the baseline. What he and Ziva discussed was off limits; he wouldn't supply Eli with background. The fact Tony didn't have any background – not even a name – notwithstanding.

"Hmn." Eli gave another little amicable snort.

"The better part of valor is discretion." – Clasping his hands together and leaning forward onto the table.

"Tell me Agent DiNozzo, have you ever tried to persuade Ziva to do something which she does not wish to do?" - Pausing for effect, a wry smile of appeal on his face. "Or dissuade her from a course of action upon which she has set her mind?"

Tony was struck by a stunning, disturbing realization. There was a distinct hint of commiseration in the inquiries; as if Eli felt a peculiar fellowship with him. Her father was sharing a fondly conspiratorial joke with Tony over Ziva's idiosyncrasies. Tony also realized Eli's command of idioms was superior to that of his daughter. It wasn't a mangled version, or even the colloquial one – Eli's was verbatim.

"My daughter believes I have no feelings…." Eli's voice held a trace of resignation.

"Well, she would know." Tony's acerbic laugh reset the score.

The fleeting confrontation in the parking garage, Ziva's selfless dedication to duty in the kitchen had evoked memories and reflection. Eli recalled a previous incarnation. One in which he had been a more complete man, a happier man – by some reckoning, a gentleman.

Hadar had been a good, reliable operative. More than that, he was a trusted, very old friend from Eli's active duty days. His loss coupled with Vance's condition, added another poignant dimension. And Tony's untainted animosity, the external negative of an internal positive – devotion –elicited admiration.

Eli was a pragmatist. He knew there would never be reconciliation with Ziva – the relationship would never be whole. The damage stretched further than her ordeal two years ago. They may, eventually, arrive at a kind of peace. Perhaps it was too late for any major rehabilitation of his reputation in her eyes – only time would tell.

"This liaison, it is a….development." - A masterpiece of non-committal warning. "One which merits surveillance."

"I'm not gonna fucking spy on her for you." Insulted and downright appalled by the implication, Tony's patience snapped again.

"Spies? Of these I have sufficient." Eli chuckled phlegmatically, shaking his head at the misunderstanding.

"No. I am asking that you exercise vigilance. Caution if you prefer." – Shrugging as he amended the inference. "As you did before - for Ziva."

That was the kicker. Eli based his request solidly in the middle of Tony's concern for Ziva - knowing he wouldn't decline. One didn't become the Director of Mossad unless one could keep secrets. Vance was stable but gravely ill. Eli had no intention of jeopardizing relations with the C.I.A. by blithely blowing a cover. Ziva's father surmised Tony didn't know very much about Ray. He furnished him with just the requisite amount of information – or rather lack thereof - for the creation of suspicion. Tony's exceptional abilities could do the rest.

"We're a team, I'd do that anyway." Tony asserted his autonomy and reclaimed ownership of the issue.

"Gibbs wants to see you before the new Security Detail show up." Tired of the annoying expedition, Tony ended the encounter on his terms with a matter-of-fact dismissal.

Tony had never been so grateful for ceding jurisdiction to the Secret Service in his life. Standing by the elevator, chatting with Liat and Malachi, Tony noticed Eli walking toward Ziva. He wondered what they might say to each other. More importantly, he wondered about his own exchange with her father – and how the hell he was going to explain it to Ziva.

* * *

><p>Tony spent most of Wednesday assiduously avoiding Ziva and tying up loose ends. He weighed confiding in Gibbs over Eli David's remarkably accurate Sphinx impersonation. Unfortunately, it wasn't a viable option. With Rivkin, Gibbs and Tony had been on the same page. Whereas, currently, all Tony had was an instinct and Eli's riddles - hardly concrete proof from an exemplary figure.<p>

Furthermore, Gibbs was embroiled in running NCIS. It wasn't an auspicious moment at which to mention he had a problem with Ziva's relationship – again. Tony had debriefed his boss once the Israelis left the Navy Yard. In reply to Gibbs' raised his eyebrows, Tony held out his hands and shrugged – an eloquent gesture of incomprehension.

He nearly pulled off a clean getaway. Just after four o'clock, Ziva trapped him in the Break Room.

"Why did my father wish to speak with you?" Already there was the merest sign of annoyed accusation in her tone.

Tony had a faint hope she wouldn't find out; alas the Bush Telegraph was working to its usual efficient standards. Although, because there had been neither violence nor bloodshed – Security hadn't even been called - a marked sense of anticlimax pervaded when the 'so, what happened' part of the tale was reached.

"Um, I don't know." This wasn't quite as untruthful as it might seem. Tony was thoroughly perplexed by the whole scenario. "Is he still in D.C. by the way?"

"No." Her short reply was laden with expectation.

These days Eli never traveled abroad and he had originally planned an extension for his stay in Washington. He would use the time for cementing old alliances and forging new ones. However, shots and an RPG fired in the city streets, plus one explosion later had the State Dept. counseling early departure for his well-being. Or in non-diplomatic language, he was asked to leave - rather bluntly. His own government also advised returning home for security and the Israeli contingent had flown the previous night.

"Oh good, I'll tell McAlmanac the eclipse is canceled." Tony reached down for the bottle of water; acutely aware of the 'I'm-waiting' beam boring into his back. "Zee-vah, I don't know…not really anyway."

"What did you talk about?" Her tone was slightly less sharp; accepting Tony's plea.

"Uh, you." Slowly he turned around, bracing for a possible eruption. Encouraged by maintained peace, he continued cautiously. "I think it was a thank you."

Completely taken aback by the outlandish notion, a frown registered on Ziva's features. "A thank you?"

"That or he was hoping I'd die so he could devour my soul." Tony's cavalier response was a reflex. The alternative seemed equally unlikely.

"From my father?" Shock transformed into utter disbelief as an expression and in her careful phrasing.

It was a miniscule, though, marked alteration in reference. After the attacks Ziva had begun calling him 'my father' again – not Eli. Tony hadn't heard her use those words in years – not since her early days at NCIS.

"Yes." Tony smiled in helpless accord with the sentiment. Gratitude might sound implausible yet it was the only explanation he had.

After a few minutes of quiet absorption, Ziva tilted her head – suspicion growing. "For what?"

"For bringing you back….I guess or killing Al-Masri….both." Toying with the cap on the bottle, he shook his head. "I'm not sure."

There was a hard edge of determination in Ziva's manner. With a jolt, Tony recognized the likeness to Eli; the constant assimilation of the circumstances. Evaluating each new factor and slotting its significance into her judgment. The controlled, focused stillness before action or response. In many ways, Ziva was unquestionably her father's daughter.

He wondered if it was nature or nurture. And he decided it would inadvisable to share this realization with her - at least not whilst they occupied the same continent. Tony also found himself considering the idea that Ziva's mother must have been extraordinary. Her influence had countered and molded those traits; forming the irresistibly captivating, complicated woman in front of him.

"I'm not." Although he grinned slightly in protesting his innocence, the defense was earnest. She was beginning to doubt him – that was bad. "I'll tell you; just as soon as I figure it out."

The offer was genuine. His position in the meeting with Eli was true; Tony wouldn't betray her trust. Either by revealing anything she might tell him or by lying to Ziva. However, that placed him in a difficult situation for the present. Until Tony fully understood, he was reluctant to enlighten Ziva – in the event his conclusions were wrong. The chances and downside of miscommunications were considerable. And, this evening, he was trapped by time.

Ziva scrutinized him. "This is very strange."

She guessed instinctively Tony was withholding information and the evasion was unsettling. Especially since Eli was involved. Despite the unease, Tony's manner was somewhat reassuring. She was anxious, in part, because she felt Eli might be setting up Tony. The tension level picked up slightly.

"Yeah." Tony laughed drily. "And then it gets weird." – Looking her steadily in the eye, hesitating over his next statement. "I think he's….um….worried about you."

For nearly two months, Tony had been bugging Ziva about 'the Unsub.' If she discovered Eli had been bugging Tony about bugging Ziva about the 'Unsub.', it would assuredly ignite a conflagration. The inferno would match that of the Hindenburg – only quicker. Tony was optimistic the upcoming break would allow him to figure out a solution. He could devise an effective, sensible account for Ziva. As a temporary measure, Tony opted for an abridged transcript – redacting the more disconcerting passages.

"My father?" Ziva's question managed an impressive feat; extending the scope of its mistrust to include both Tony and Eli.

"Look he could've been killed three times. One friend's dead, one's in the hospital." Tony shrugged. "Maybe it shook him up a little." Inwardly conceding Eli wasn't a good candidate for being shake-able.

"My father?" Her range narrowed; the incredulity targeting Tony.

"Will you stop saying that, who else is it gonna be?" – Raising his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "Jesus."

Ziva was shaking her head in thoughtful - though absolute - contradiction. "He lives under the permanent threat of death, every day."

"Maybe it was different this time." Tony's efforts at persuasion were a little disingenuous. In reality, he didn't buy the concept either. However, keeping Ziva pre-occupied with non-specific vagaries in Eli's behavior meant he wouldn't have to divulge more details.

"How?" The slight snap was a warning. As her surprise waned, the perception Tony was being deceptive initiated upset; which, in turn, was triggering anger for safety.

"You were in danger." The shift in atmosphere increased and Tony flatly stated the obvious; trying to dampen escalation. "When was the last time he witnessed it up close and personal?"

"I was not in danger." Meeting his eyes, Ziva issued an unflinching denial.

Tony cocked his head. "'Cause it was a water pistol in the kitchen and Al-Masri had a sparkler." – Sarcastically agreeing and mocking the untenable claim.

"Tony it was my assignment." She wasn't admitting he was right but the delivery was softer as Ziva backed down.

"Yeah. That doesn't make it harmless." – A relaxed admonition, matching her tone.

Peril came with the badge, ignoring its existence wasn't helpful. Tony was reminded of her father's allusion to Ziva's stubborn streak.

"You were worried too, Zee-vah." Tony's gentle testament was risky. Tackling the agitation stirred by Eli head-on might help settle Ziva. Or it would snag the tripwire and detonate.

"Director Vance was unaccounted for." Ziva glanced off his gaze, walking around Tony before stopping.

He swiveled, making eye contact again. "Zee-vah." - Firmly challenging her on the partial truth.

He had noticed the small Israeli flag on her desk last evening and its continued survival through today.

"Alright." – Very carefully. "I was….somewhat concerned."

"OK." He nodded then posed the extrapolation – Ziva liked logic. "And when was the last time that happened?"

Abby had preached a touching, heartfelt sermon in her guise as unofficial 'Team Gibbs Emoter'. Before the drive to the conference, Eli had revived reminiscences of her past when Ziva and he were constituent pieces of the same sum - a family. Like looking through an old photograph album at a different time - when he had simply been her father. The thoughts had all chimed with her underlying sense of want.

Ziva shook her head, a puzzled look in her eyes. She couldn't remember.

"When he was leaving, he told me he had lost something." Her head dropped. "His job had taken something from him. My father said he worried that it was gone forever."

Her foot traced a circle in the floor and Ziva surveyed its route for a few minutes. "I believe he was sincere. At least, it appeared honest." There was a mix of idealism and bitterness in the remark.

Tony moved a pace nearer. "Dad showed me a photo of me and him taken when I was a kid, before my Mom died….Says he looks at it every morning."

Intrigued by his revelation, Ziva looked up at him.

"Do I believe him? Probably not." Tony smiled philosophically. "But there's a part of me that wants it to be true….."

He stopped uncertainly. Usually, Tony disguised anything that could be even remotely misconstrued as depth. "It'd be stupid to pretend that part didn't exist."

He gave her a searching look. "There's….there's a part of you that….uh wants Eli to care. And that's OK."

The observation was extremely tentative because if his guess was off he could be flat on the floor within seconds – and not in a good way.

Ziva was staring at him intently. He was doing it again. The gnawing, lonely stress and wearying struggle of the past few days was lifting. Tony seemed infinitely capable of providing a foundation from which she could derive balance. It was perplexing.

"Did you just imply that I am stupid?" Her charge was lighthearted; an attempt to contain the intense mood which had sprung up between them.

"Well kinda." Tony grinned, seizing the reprieve from tension. "No stupider than the rest of us though."

Ziva definitively undermined her earlier success by inching closer, unconsciously seeking the support.

"If my father was referring to me….it would be confusing." Briefly, Ziva contemplated the snack-vending machine as if it might also dispense advice.

Then she glanced up at Tony. "I do not know whether to believe him, which makes it difficult."

"Not really. He is your father – you can't control that. Same with Dad and me." He shrugged carelessly. "If he cares or not doesn't matter. What counts is the bit of you that cares if he does."

He smiled at Ziva with amused affection. She could defuse bombs, assemble and disassemble numerous weapons - practically in her sleep. She was highly intelligent, an excellent investigator and multi-lingual. Ziva could expertly perform a myriad of other functions. She couldn't handle a basic human need – the interaction of emotions. The unruly and insubordinate quality of feelings baffled and alarmed her. They suggested - had resulted in - destruction and insecurity.

Tony didn't trust Ziva's father and he neither knew, nor cared if Eli was seeking redemption. Tony was fascinated by the shift in Ziva's resolute distance; the barely perceptible admission of vulnerability behind the barriers.

"It's like this." His index finger sketched along the outline of her Star of David pendant. "It means something 'cause that's all part of who you are, Zee-vah."

She didn't wear it for religious symbolism. It was a statement of cultural and personal identity. That part of her individual history which remained unchanged - both the good and the bad. Tony's comparison was cleverly drawn. However, his physical demonstration was an astonishingly terrible idea. Her skin was soft, she was wearing one of those low-cut tops again and Tony's fingertip lingered. It also remained intact - he pulled his hand back awkwardly.

"I gotta get this stuff signed then I'm out of here." Tony picked up a folder from one of the tables, tucking it under his arm. As he strode away, he half-turned. "Hey, maybe I'll run into you at Dulles."

Ziva hadn't moved, she was watching Tony pensively. "You will not see me."

Tony grinned victoriously because she'd fallen for the tease. "I'm kidding."

"No, Tony. He is not coming." Ziva gave a small sigh. "The plans were altered at the last minute."

Tony halted and swung around completely, the grin evaporating.

He was on the verge of walking back to her when Ziva's quiet order forestalled the movement. "You will miss your flight."

In the recesses of his mind, a quiet voice begged Tony to make a link. The whisper was drowned out by the multiple reactions which shot into the forefront of his thoughts. Puzzling, disloyal relief; Ziva and friend wouldn't be shacked up in her apartment. Disappointment because she appeared disappointed. And anger; the son-of-a-bitch had let her down. Tony was very familiar with the burdens and constraints of an unpredictable schedule – that also came with the badge. However, there was a clear remedy; leave arrangements in the realm of the permanently unfixed.

Ziva was looking forward to celebrating her first Thanksgiving as an American citizen. Her friend would have to be brain dead not to notice. Tony's ire – fair or not – was born of a prejudice against broken promises. His principle was simple; don't make the promise unless it's a sure thing. Very few things can, actually, be considered sure; Tony subscribed to the standard limit agreed at death and taxes. And so his rule could be reduced further. Don't make promises - ever. Tony applied this theory liberally in many areas of his life. It was also a bilateral intolerance; there were only a handful of people whose word he accepted as a guarantee.

* * *

><p>"Hi." Tony's greeting was too full of spur of the moment geniality.<p>

He opened the refrigerator, retrieved two bottles of beer and placed them on the table.

"Tony." Ziva's reply was too full of carefully polite neutrality.

There was a deathly silence on the 'phone.

She opened a closet – surveying the contents. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Tony began rummaging through a drawer for a bottle opener. "Yeah."Unsuccessful, he pushed it closed.

"Apart from the flight delays and severe thunderstorm watches. I mean, it's November for Christ's Sake." He was, after all an East Coast boy.

"It snowed here." Ziva considered her wardrobe of coats and jackets. "Only a smitter."

"Smattering." - Spontaneously grinning as he made the correction, trying another drawer.

"Well it is chilly." Ziva frowned, lost in her process of choice.

There was another cringe-inducing gap. They were conversing about the weather.

"What are you up to?" – Slamming the drawer shut.

"Waiting for Penni to collect me." Finally selecting a coat, Ziva pulled it from the hanger. "We are going to a birthday party for Ben, one of the Australians."

Ziva had a number of acquaintances at the Israeli embassy; Penina was P.A. to the Cultural Attaché. In the vaguely cocooned world of the overseas missions to any cosmopolitan city, friendships always cross and overlap – everyone is away from home. Tony usually lost track of the various nationalities, where all the connections worked and who was sleeping with whom.

He remembered Penni was dating a guy from the Argentinian delegation. The Argentinians participated in an informal Rugby sevens league with – amongst others – the Australians. Tony winced at her announcement. She would have fun. She wasn't home alone and hadn't gone to help McGee with paperwork. Nevertheless, Ziva was spending her American Holiday amidst the cheerful nomadic tribe which encompasses the entourage of the Diplomatic Corps. The irony was painful.

"What about you?" – Choosing a scarf.

Tony stood in the middle of the kitchen, scanning the cluttered counters. "Right now…I'm looking for…a goddamned opener."

Ziva smiled; picturing the frustrated scene in her head from the note in his voice.

There was a third toe-curlingly awful pause.

Ziva walked over to the window and peeked into the parking lot. "I think she is here."

"OK. Just wanted to wish….uh the American Ninja a Happy Thanksgiving." – Making fun of her nickname and sounding ridiculously casual despite the minor stumble.

Tony had almost called her 'my' American Ninja – abandoning the personal pronoun at the last second.

In the background, Tony heard her door buzzing. "Tony?"

"Uh-huh?" - Glancing over his shoulder when Juliet reappeared in the kitchen, tapping him on the arm with the misplaced bottle opener.

There was another interval; though this one was filled with inexplicable mutual anticipation.

"Thank you." Ziva pressed end instantly - before she told him she missed him. And then she answered the door's insistent call.

Tony tossed his cell onto the table, preparing to open bottles.

"No, not there." Working space was already at a premium. Juliet raised a questioning eyebrow at the 'phone's visibility as she handed it back to Tony.

"Sorry." Tony stuck the offending article in a pocket. "Had to check-in with the office, there's a case on…."

Years as a police officer's wife – from beat cop to Chief - meant she knew the routine. If there were a case Tony wouldn't be drinking beer, watching a football match. And, especially given the sophisticated nature of his job, if there were a case he'd still be on the 'phone – arranging transportation back to D.C.

"How is she Tony?" Juliet sympathetically interrupted him – as good friends will do – before he completed the patently idiotic excuse.

"Which one?" – Tony grinned wickedly; nonchalantly brushing off the inquiry with his reputation for a string of girlfriends.

Juliet fixed him with a stern look. She had never forgotten the summer night he pitched up, out of the blue, looking horrible. So dreadful in fact, the next morning she had hastily arranged play-dates plus sleep-overs for the kids. And told Tom she would divorce him on the spot if he offered Tony the merest whiff of alcohol. For two days his friends had provided an understated, solid refuge whilst Tony wrestled personal tragedy and pulled it together. He hadn't really spoken of the event; basically just told them Ziva was dead.

Accustomed to losing colleagues and friends in the line of duty, they hadn't pushed for details. When Ziva had risen Lazarus-like weeks later, Tom and Juliet were enormously relieved. Again, the specifics were minimal. Although this time the reasons seemed to be the result of 'classified' information – not Tony's inability to talk about the subject.

Tony wilted under the 'don't-bullshit-me-I've-known-you-too-long' stare.

He shrugged in sheepish acknowledgment, smiling ruefully. "She's had a tough couple of days….but Zee-vah's doing OK."

"Good." Juliet glanced pointedly at the t.v. which was playing a music channel. "Now shoo - else Tom'll come in here and we'll never eat."

Tony collected the beer and obeyed her banishment. "Niiice bootleg."

As Tony's voice floated from inside, Juliet shook her head over the seamless transition from sensitive worrier to enthusiastic fan. Occasionally, she debated persuading Tony to open up about Ziva. She always talked herself out of the idea. Meddling in the love-life of others was never a sensible activity.

They had to achieve the relationship and manage the progression by themselves – otherwise it wouldn't work. Unfortunately, Tony and Ziva were particularly incompetent when it came to this assignment.

* * *

><p><strong>Many thanks for the reviews – you are truly lovely readers! Please do keep letting me know how this is going if you get a chance. Likesdislikes, what worked/what didn't – any comments are always very helpful.**

**Thanks also to the alerters – hope you weren't disappointed. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	5. Grief

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain. **

**OK, little jump forward in time. I'm still setting up the pieces for the whole end of S8 bit – so apologies if you're getting bored with the wait? This is a bit fluffy and maybe a bit angsty – in fact I'm not really sure how it turned out…**

**Note; I know as much about American Football as I do baseball = very little! Also on 'The Polar Express'; I know it's not a new movie but they do re-release it [here at least] in IMAX theatres during the Holidays. **

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>Grief is the price we pay for love"<em>

_Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II_

**January 2011**

Contrary to the popular proverb, virtue is not always its own reward. Tony was reminded of this fact the very first weekend following his trip to Missouri. The 'Unsub.' was in Maryland for some job-related reason. And he had invited Ziva to join him for a long weekend on the picturesque Delmarva Peninsula. It may have been a lucky coincidence or he may have been trying to make amends for the Thanksgiving debacle. In Tony's estimation the motivations were irrelevant. From the minute Ziva arrived at the office on Monday morning, it was evident the 'friend' had transformed into the 'boyfriend'. With all the rights and privileges bestowed by that prefix – only there was definitely nothing boyish about the progression.

The development provided Tony with several sources of grief. The first was practical. Whilst away, Tony had pondered his meeting with Eli David. He was uncomfortable with not being completely open with Ziva. He was still somewhat baffled by the confrontation; unsure of Eli's purpose and its significance. Nevertheless, Tony intended to keep his promise that he would tell Ziva once he'd figured it out; he simply had to find the right moment. There was also the possibility Ziva would be able supply an alternative interpretation of the matter. Tony's noble plan backfired; he'd wanted to minimize any upset for Ziva – until he had sensible answers, or any answers. Unfortunately events overtook Tony before the opportunity presented.

Now it was no longer a case of vague warnings about an acquaintance. Now it would be Tony drawing a question mark over Ziva's lover; with the punctuation supplied in large part by Eli. The notion was likely to be received with less welcome than the visit of a debt collecting pædophile. And Tony was extremely reluctant to spark the argument. The inevitable quarrel would be pointless, bruising and detrimental; he had no actual proof. Furthermore, at present, he and Ziva seemed more adept at avoiding the really nasty fights; preserving that détente was eminently desirable.

"Hey Ninja, you ever watched a movie in IMAX?" They were walking slowly down a gallery in the National Museum of American History.

"No." Ziva was scanning a guide pamphlet; occasionally looking up and around with a small frown of concentration on her face.

"What is IMAX?" She'd heard the label but never really paid much attention to its meaning.

"Well, it's technical - basically it's bigger, much bigger and louder." Tony pulled out his 'phone and began searching the listings. "And it can be kinda cool for the right movie. There's a screen here."

It was 2nd January. They had met for breakfast and Ziva announced they should do something – to mark the beginning of a new year. Tony suggested the Smithsonian – the day was cold so inside seemed a smart idea. He took her to see the Hope Diamond; she liked diamonds. Tony was yet to meet the woman who didn't and he conceded the jewel was an impressive chunk of rock. In addition, he always got a kick from Ziva indulging what he termed her 'girl streak' – he did draw the line at viewing the antique dolls' houses display. Then she insisted they visit the American Art exhibit where, despite sleep walking through parts of the galleries, Tony revealed himself to be not quite the total Philistine he portrayed.

His parents' marriage had been a classic old money meets nouveau riche scenario. Tony's mother came from an old East Coast family – respectable, cultured and refined. She was a genuine Daughter of the American Revolution - who had fallen for the charm of the wheeler-dealer businessman descended from Italian immigrants. Tony had spent much of his childhood in one of the wealthiest hamlets on Long Island. And although that particular aspect of his life had been abruptly curtailed, his mother's background clung to the edges of his consciousness – he knew a little about art and American historical culture.

"Here they are." Ziva had acquired her target and her delight showed in the smiled exclamation.

Finally after a long lunch, Tony persuaded Ziva they should hit the National Treasures of Popular Culture collection next – his original idea behind the museum. They had wandered through rooms of movie, t.v. and a host of different types of memorabilia. Ziva was familiar with some of the items and their associations, not with others and simply baffled by many. Here Tony was in his element; simultaneously explaining the Americana – in categories of the truly great, the not-so-great and the dear god why – whilst mocking her fun-challenged, sober upbringing. And he was entertained when Ziva expressed sweet determination in seeing Dorothy's ruby slippers - so they'd tracked them down.

"Um, maybe not IMAX, this evening anyway." He seemed slightly disappointed upon discovery of the options.

"We've got space pictures from the Hubble. That's gonna be full of stoned college students." – Grinning at the first movie's likely audience and attempting a swift slide over the next. "Some narrative thing on Arabia."

Ziva was interested in history so that choice might be attractive – which meant Tony would probably be taking a nap in the theater.

"I believe I am sufficiently familiar with the Middle East." Ziva drily took the hint with a little smile – spotting his dodge.

"Or 'The Polar Express'." He grimaced. "And that'll be full of screaming kids and pissed off parents."

The breakfast rendezvous was an unforeseen side-effect of Ziva's sleeping with Ray. Tony and Ziva had begun socializing with each other – it had started innocuously with the annual West Point versus Annapolis football game in December. She had never attended a football game which Tony declared un-American. He promptly inveigled tickets and they passed a whole Saturday either in transit or in Philadelphia. She hadn't really followed the contest's finer points – Tony's best efforts notwithstanding - only managing to keep track of the Center because he was the guy who snapped the ball and the Quarterback – he was the guy who did most of the throwing.

However, Ziva was intrigued by Tony's playing days, how he'd broken his leg and she made a mental note to ask Tony if he had any photos of himself wearing all the kit. He still had the physique and carried himself with the easy self-confidence of a natural athlete – although Ziva convinced herself she only noticed because it was an important detail for assessing professional capabilities.

The match was followed by a couple of casual meetings; lunch one weekend and, one night dinner and a movie. Because she was dating someone, because Ziva was in a relationship, the after-hours time couldn't be viewed as violation of The Rule; they were just friends. And much to their surprise, Tony and Ziva found they actually mixed rather well outside of the Navy Yard.

There were still squabbles and disagreements over anything from where they would meet, who would drive or which parking lot to use. At several points en route to and from Philly, Tony would have happily ejected Ziva from the car – and she would have willingly slit his throat. Nevertheless, by virtue of the fact the practice was on-going, clearly they enjoyed being together – which was, essentially, the equivalent of playing with gasoline and an open flame whilst blindfolded.

Ziva glanced back at the famed shoes in the case. "We could always order take out and watch…."

"Uh-uh." Tony shook his head; one step ahead of Ziva and looking even less enthusiastic than he had done over the family film.

"Why not?" She demanded, a little indignant.

"'Cause it's a musical." – With a trace of 'do you really have to ask' in his voice.

"It is a classic is it not?" Ziva's smile widened and she looked up appealingly. "I thought you told me a classic movie is one which can always be re-watched."

"Yeah, well I've already seen 'The Wizard of Oz' more than once and I'm a straight male." He couldn't help grinning at her obvious tactic. "There's an acceptability quota for some movies and I've reached the limit for that one."

"Tony, you took me to see a movie about ballet." - Pointing out Tony had persuaded her to accompany him because Ziva had taken ballet classes as a child.

Tony wasn't certain when the transition from regular girl to lethal weapon had taken place. Yet she still possessed the poise and deportment instilled by the dance lessons. He usually only witnessed the finest manifestation of Ziva's balance and timing during fights with suspects. However, though he mightn't admit to the pleasure, Tony loved simply watching her move.

"Which had hot girl on girl sex in it so I rest my case." - Outrageously charming in his shallow excuse. "How 'bout a regular theater and 'True Grit'?"

"What is that?" Ziva sounded dubious.

"It's a Western." Aware it would be a hard sell – she didn't like the genre.

"Cowboys, ugh." She wrinkled her nose in complaint. Chilling out over wine, food and a streaming version of 'The Wizard of Oz' seemed a much more alluring prospect.

Thus far, this type of conversation was the sole downside to these encounters; the end. There was always a degree of shared, anonymous reluctance over separating and a peculiar air of thwarted ambitions.

"Jeff Bridges, the Coen brothers, plus it's Gibbs with an eye-patch." Tony cocked his head and shrugged. "What's not to like?"

"Mmn." Ziva thought for a few moments, unconvinced. "Tomorrow is Monday and I think I am still jet-lagged; another night?"

This was the second of Tony's woes. Not only had her relationship escalated; it was blossoming at a fairly rapid pace. Granted she'd known the man since the summer. However, following one weekend at the beginning of December, Ziva had flown to Europe and spent Christmas with her boyfriend; who was apparently traveling on business. Employing unused vacation days, she'd been gone a week on what appeared like a very romantic break.

The knowledge engendered a curious reflex of loss within Tony. Creating an elusive feeling that something had been taken from him; except Tony couldn't quite identify either the missing piece or the cause. He'd resisted the temptation to initiate a search for any hotel or travel reservations in Les Deux Alpes made under Ziva's name. Tony only discovered the resort because Ziva told Abby who told McGee who'd let it slip a couple of days after Ziva left. Partly because the idea smacked of Eli's spying. Partly because Tony knew if she ever found out, Ziva would shoot him – without hesitation. Mostly because such a strategy would be a betrayal of her trust; the trust he valued so very much.

"A rain date….check. I meant rain check not a date." - Hastily making a superfluous correction.

Either word was adequate for conveying her meaning and Ziva's confused amendment served in underlining the awkwardness. There was an unspoken accord in place. Under no circumstances should their interactions be referred to, conceived of or perceived as 'dates.' Of course, neither Tony nor Ziva articulated why this distinction was so vital.

"I got it, Zee-vah." Tony grinned at the muddled English and the frustrated smile.

"Not next weekend, but sure some other time when you're not gonna be….uh busy?" The grin became exceedingly suggestive and was augmented by an equally unsubtle look.

"He is still overseas and will not return until later this month." Ziva held his gaze steadily; both annoyed and amused by Tony's attitude.

The advance to a fully fledged relationship with Ray had been sudden but relatively straightforward for Ziva. From the very beginning, Ray had made no secret of his attraction toward Ziva and, during the weekend getaway, launched a very thorough, exceptionally smooth seduction. She was tired of the single life. Being wanted – desired - felt wonderful and soothed the hollow ache for which she was seeking a remedy. There is an excitement surrounding any new relationship and Ziva was merely enjoying the safely uncomplicated thrill.

In an obtuse twist, the pre-Thanksgiving talk with Tony had spurred her decision. Ziva was activating her caring side and taking a risk. Somehow Tony knew, without being informed, that she was sleeping with Ray - the realization was irritating and disconcerting. Which denoted their discussions about Ray always became rather charged. Moreover Tony seemed to dislike him without knowing anything about him, not even his name – and that also increased tensions.

"Jesus. That's a long trip." – Trying to sound innocently concerned and not like he was prying.

Ray had been in Spain when he made the offer of a French Christmas and now his assignment was taking him to the Far East – although Ziva was ignorant of the precise destination. The requirement for obscure agendas was part of being a C.I.A operative – one she didn't question based upon her previous life in Mossad.

"It was extended and we should go." Her short answer effectively ended any further elaboration on the topic.

Inwardly Tony cursed her dismissal. On the surface, Eli's apparent misgivings over the 'Unsub.' should count as a vote of confidence for her boyfriend – in a 'my enemy's enemy is my friend' type of way. After all, Ziva's father had never managed anything even approximating approval of Tony. Nevertheless, a nagging doubt remained; what if Eli's warning was accurate.

Tony was still determined to enlighten Ziva should the chance arise. He hated keeping Eli's involvement secret and would like nothing better than to debrief Ziva with the all of the elements. All but one; he would omit her father's opinion on the nature of Tony's affections. Tony classified the theory as merely an attempt to rattle him; although he stopped conveniently short of analyzing why such conjecture should be disturbing.

* * *

><p>"This is just like 'Goldilocks and the Three Bears' 'cept with blood splatter and shell casings." Tony's falsely gleeful proclamation floated into the bedroom.<p>

He moved to one side as Ducky and his assistant maneuvered the body-laden gurney through the doorway.

"A little to the left if you would be so kind Mr. Palmer. No, your left." Ducky patiently advised.

"Yes, Anthony, many folktales have their origins in cautionary fables. And, although we do not yet know the exact circumstances, it would appear caution would have been most appropriate in this instance." - Indicating the corpse with a smile.

Palmer looked up. "Did you know, Dr. Mallard, Pinocchio was actually meant to frighten children into being truthful?" - Making a cheerful contribution and scraping the woodwork in the process.

"Yes, Mr. Palmer, I did." Ducky sighed. He enjoyed the chitchat with his apprentice; occasionally he wished Mr. Palmer could be a little more intellectually stimulating.

Undeterred, Palmer carried on. "And 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves' is really about…."

"Necrophilia and height diversity?" – Tony sarcastically terminated the lesson and a slightly stunned Palmer began backing down the hallway.

With his path clear, Tony entered the room. "Still Zee-vah's found her Prince Charming." There was a mocking edge in his voice. "You could be Ray's Rapunzel."

Finally, he had a name. Making the discovery wasn't especially gratifying; when the 'Unsub.' had returned from abroad, she'd immediately traveled to see him. Ziva arrived back in the bull-pen glowing, looking very happy and ridiculously gorgeous. Significantly, she'd given a name whilst listing Ray's considerable attributes. And the worst moment was the faithful defense; 'I promise you Ray is a good man'. The entire description had made Tony's heart sink.

She turned around, narrowing her eyes. At times, recently, Tony had been very moody and since the revelation of her boyfriend's first name, the obliquely critical teasing had been relentless. The omens presaged another series of sharp skirmishes.

"I have always preferred 'The Nutcracker'." - Tilting her head with a tight smile and shooting a meaningful glance at Tony's crotch.

"The identities are confirmed; Chief Warrant Officer Tara Andrews and David Foster – the homeowner." McGee had cross-referenced the data from the portable fingerprint app. "He owned a local chain of auto shops."

Gibbs appeared after a quick consultation with Ducky outside the property. "Preliminary cause is GSW. Someone tell me something I don't know."

His impatience was justified. The two bodies were found, in the bed, with starkly brutal head wounds. If another cause of death emerged, bizarre wouldn't come close.

"Foster's clean. Divorced a couple of years ago, he has a daughter studying…." McGee checked his information. "Engineering." - Nodding his head appreciatively. "She's in her final year at George Washington."

Gibbs grunted. "Andrews?"

"Single, never married and there are no problems in her service record. She was a good Marine." Ziva outlined the dead woman's history in four bare points.

"According to Metro, Foster filed for a restraining order against his ex. about twelve months ago." Tony looked at his boss and raised his eyebrows. "The Court's verdict was; don't be a pussy."

"Looks like they were wrong." Gibbs' terse comment indicated he'd grasped Tony's point. "Andrews involved in the divorce?"

Tony shook his head. "No. Neighbors say they'd been dating since the summer. She just picked the wrong boyfriend."

He glanced over at Ziva, grinning slyly. "Relationships can be deadly. Does your Ray of Sunshine know he's sleeping with an assassin?" - Deliberately needling her with the joke.

Before she could retort, Gibbs intervened.

"DiNozzo, Ziva; you finish up here. McGee; go talk to the daughter." A grim half smile crossed his features. "I'll take the ex. wife." Gibbs had three of his own and they weren't all friendly.

McGee collected his bag, returning the items he'd removed to their rightful places. "Can you imagine finding out your Dad's been killed, in bed with his girlfriend who's also dead - and your Mom's the prime suspect?"

His unhappiness over the assignment was evident. Their boss divided up the 'delivering the bad news' duties based on varying factors. Tony had years of experience and could be relied upon to break the news tactfully for victims. Or, in the case of suspects, drop the bombshell with impeccable timing. Ziva was excellent in gauging reactions although she was uncomfortable with overtly emotional outbursts. And McGee was extremely considerate. Today Gibbs decided the daughter would need the kindness. Additionally, McGee's science geek background may be of assistance.

"It will be upsetting." Ziva offered commiseration, looking over at her colleague. "She will be in shock I think."

Tony was setting up the camera. "Just keep it simple."

McGee winced in protest at the careless advice. The crime was convoluted and being the messenger was an unenviable job.

"That's easy for you to say, Tony. I'm the one who's got to tell her. What if she didn't know her father was dating?" He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, delaying his departure. "She's bound to ask questions."

Tony stopped taking pictures of the bed, a little irritated. "Look, it doesn't really matter how she finds out. It won't change the fucking facts."

"Tony." Ziva was taken aback by the unusually harsh statement.

"You might wanna leave out the girlfriend for now. Plus she's in college – deep down she probably knows Mom's a bit flaky or even clinically fucking insane." Suitably chastened by Ziva's reproach, Tony dispensed encouragement. "And she knows her Dad had a girlfriend."

He waved his hand at a photo montage on the dresser; his talent for noticing minor details displayed again. A compilation of snapshots which chronicled the close, loving father and daughter relationship: from cherubic tot through graduation, Holidays and vacations. The latest entry included the Chief Warrant Officer. There was a perverse angle in knowing the finger depressing the camera's button for many of the photos was, in all likelihood, the same finger which pulled the trigger.

"Thanks Tony." McGee's manner of being a doomed Russian volunteer lifted slightly as he left.

Ziva watched Tony speculatively for a few moments.

"I heard the reports of the bomb blast. I knew Tali was going to that café." She began the recollection carefully. "It was a clear target because of the mix of customers. Tourists, Palestinians, Jews everyone liked the atmosphere."

Ziva continued her inventory of evidence as she spoke. "I had warned Tali but it was popular and her friends were going. She wouldn't listen." - Smiling reflectively at her sister's personality.

"Why am I not surprised your kid sister was stubborn?" This time Tony's joke was purely affectionate.

Ziva laughed. "Not stubborn; Tali loved life, an eternal optimist. Everything would always be fine." The smile became a little sad, matching her tone. "I hoped Tali would be safe. Once the number of casualties started rising…."

Ziva sighed matter-of-factly. "I was prepared for the worst. And Ari, I….saw."

Ziva hadn't ever corrected the belief Gibbs had shot her half-brother. They had decided on the official version and, until he issued instructions to the contrary, Ziva would not break operational confidentiality. The fictitious story was both a refuge and a burden – flip sides of the same coin.

"She didn't pick me up from school." Tony was staring into space.

"She always picked me up from school. And that day she wasn't there." His voice was incredibly quiet.

"It was one of her friends Lily….no Linda…" Frowning, annoyed he couldn't remember all the specifics.

"Lisa, her name was Lisa. She wouldn't tell me where my Mom was. She kept…kept asking about school, what I'd done at recess, what I'd had for lunch. Telling me we'd be home soon." He bit his top lip, shaking his head as if he were still puzzled by the journey. "Which was really dumb 'cause I knew the route."

Tony swallowed, hesitating. Ziva could see the battle between distance and engagement playing in the balled fists, the bowed head and stressed near-whisper. "She was gone, you know, just like that."

For a split second Ziva glimpsed the bewildered, desperate hurt of Tony's eight year old self. A little boy who wanted to be Han Solo when he grew up, struggling with a disaster he couldn't fully comprehend. Whose concept of death vied for understanding with such complex issues as the existence of Santa and why god invented mosquitoes. Whose chief dilemma was weighing the trouble he'd get into against the potential splat: if he threw his decaying jack-o'-lantern out of the highest window onto the drive. And who wondered if his arm was good enough to avoid hitting the cars.

Ziva wondered if the hapless friend's attempt at distracting a child – instead of giving a direct, circumspect answer – had sown the seeds for Tony's uncanny gift in discerning anomalies. The more someone projects normality in a situation, the more likely the chances for abnormality.

Tony became more focused, less lost in reverie. "It was an accident. It wasn't anyone's fault." He made eye contact for the first time. "I've been doing this long enough to know it happens, every day, to someone."

He looked toward the bed with a wry smile. "Christ, it could've been a whole lot worse."

She was almost holding her breath. Standing in the middle of a crime scene, bagging blood soaked, brain-matter smeared pillows and Tony was talking about the day his mother died. He never talked about the subject – ever. Tony rarely mentioned his mother at all. Ziva remembered the fleeting hint at his past in the helicopter. And she didn't want him shutting down as he had on that occasion. The rationalized assessment – from his adult perspective - was an attempt at withdrawal.

"But it happened to you Tony." – Taking a few steps closer, a serious gentle expression shadowing her features.

"She was your mother. That is what makes this different." - Reminding Tony that whilst private pain is constantly replayed in countless ways, each individual's suffering isn't trivial.

He turned away from her slightly. "Yeah, maybe." – His tone was a casual, conversational level.

"No. Definitely." Ziva pulled off the latex gloves, moving around in front of him and refusing the rejection. "Your life was altered forever."

It was a typically Ziva approach; dispassionately stating the truth, placing it within the context of practical impact – not emotional distress. And the tactic worked.

Tony looked down at her. "That pretty much sums it up, I guess. Dad was, I don't know, coping with his own….whatever…"

He rolled his eyes in helpless admission; he had no idea of whether his father was grief-stricken or not. "Had a string of girlfriends. I was always in the way. They weren't unkind, like your standard evil step-mother routine or anything. It wasn't even their fault."

He glanced off her look, thinking back and absolving adults who should have known better. "They were interested in Dad; he was interested in them and…"

"You were another woman's child." Again, Ziva pursued her access point by way of plain appraisal. Tony seemed more responsive if she didn't trespass directly on the incomplete scar tissue.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Kinda like the extras that come on a car. You know the stuff you don't want but you have to take 'cause you want the car?"

There was a touch of cynicism in the analogy. A signal Tony was relaxing, more assured on discussing the topic. "Then Dad got married."

"And they sent you away to school." She was quietly leading him through revisiting the experience.

Ziva remained sympathetically neutral because he would be thrown by a stronger reaction; which enabled the establishment of her unique bond with Tony. Internally, she was amazed Tony had emerged as relatively unscathed as he had done. Whereas Ziva's losses and vulnerabilities had been manipulated and exploited, Tony's had been ignored. His father wasn't domineering or cruel – he was indifferent. Basically, he'd been abandoned – certainly emotionally - and cut adrift to handle the tremendous ordeal on his own.

"In some ways school wasn't so bad though. I mean the school wasn't gonna leave me alone for days 'cause they were closing a deal." Tony stuck his hands in his pockets, looking quizzically at Ziva to see if she understood.

"Or pick out the babysitter based on her measurements and then sleep with her." A faint grin of wicked appreciation flickered. "Although I had some indecently beautiful babysitters, he always did have great taste in women."

Slowly she was assembling the structure. Throughout his formative years women had appeared and vanished with depressing regularity. Initially, he would have been too young to grasp the reasons. Later the pattern evolved as an orthodox behavior – relationships form and fall apart. And, at its core, was the unreasoning, untreated wound inflicted by his mother's death. Ziva realized why first Kate's and then Jenny's death had hit Tony so hard. Both people for whom he cared, both very sudden. However, because she hadn't actually died, Ziva couldn't envision the devastation from her abrupt demise. She wasn't able to complete the links in the chain.

"Then he got divorced, more girlfriends. And by that time I was sick of all the bullshit." These memories brought a flash of anger.

Tony had a temper. It was usually exceptionally well-controlled and there were very few triggers. These days Ziva was the primary fuse. When he lost it, the anger was ice cold, unflinchingly rational and distinctly unpleasant. The discipline must have taken years to perfect. Ziva suspected 'sick of all the bullshit' translated into a period of fierce arguments and conflict.

"Dad wanted me to become a fucking equities trader or a banker. Guess he figured a financier'd come in useful." The remark was accompanied by a disparaging shrug. "I just walked away from the whole fucking deal, went to college on sports ticket and became a cop."

He held her gaze – almost seeking validation he'd made the right choice.

"A very good cop." Ziva smiled warmly. Another undecorated comment delivered with just the right amount of affection.

A veteran Federal Agent with a not undeserved reputation for excessive womanizing would seem an unlikely candidate for empathizing with a High School pupil wrestling sexual identity and homophobia. Yet Tony had recognized the discipline problems as a symptom of some other ill. Sensed the young man was hiding something about the murdered Navy recruiting officer and picked up on a difficult father and son dynamic. The boy's mother had died; he was searching for an escape from a troubled home life.

"It's weird. I don't even know if they were happy." Tony smiled philosophically, leaning against the wall.

"No-one ever knows if their parents are happy – as children we see our parents as parents." Ziva shrugged at the strange nature of familial interactions.

Her parents had separated when she was nine. She didn't understand the causes for the rift completely until a few months ago.

"They do not become people until we are older." She returned his smile and conceded her own confusion. "And then sometimes we see things we would rather not learn."

"I miss someone I never knew, not really anyway." He closed his eyes for a minute and Ziva could feel his tension building again. He was confessing an intangible and feared it was foolish.

"You knew what was important, Tony." This was Ziva's opportunity for delicately offering an emotional response.

"You have a sense of her and that is what you miss. Your best qualities are part of her." Ziva was gently sincere in the compliment.

Tony had survived - not undamaged – but he hadn't succumbed to the trauma. Through his resilience and integrity Tony forged an admirable life, on his own principles. He fashioned a strong, dependable character whilst either alone or surrounded by chronic instability. The rationale behind Tony's biting contempt for the Devin Lodges of the world – apart from the playboy's generally revolting persona – became crystal clear.

"I do not think they come from your father." – Adding a lighthearted codicil. "The charm? Yes, that is your father's."

He stared thoughtfully at Ziva, finding the conversation inexplicable. Tony didn't know why he'd started talking to Ziva about his childhood – just that it felt good. He was dimly conscious it always felt good talking to her, being with her. Even when they were fighting, there was an underlying sense of comfort, that they were connected.

"Gibbs should've sent you to talk to the daughter, Zee-vah." - Perplexed by his conclusion.

"Perhaps you are the only one upon whom I can have this effect?" Ziva intended the query as a joke – making fun of her alleged inability for empathy.

However, the phrasing was a little misleading. Suddenly, Ziva was acutely aware she did want to reach him because Tony affected her on an extraordinary level.

"How many others have you tried it on before me?" The beguiling self confidence was firmly resumed as Tony tried to dissipate the intimate yet strangely unsettling shift in mood.

"I wonder how poor McGee is managing." - Snapping on fresh gloves, Ziva moved back to the bed. The gruesome skull fragments were disgusting but harmless.

Counter intuitively, Ray's promotion into the role of boyfriend eased the pressure on Tony and Ziva. From a tentative starting point of friendship, they were learning to communicate - without using the Copiale cipher as a how-to manual. And this development was drawing them closer. Naturally, because they were exceptionally gifted in screwing up even elementary progress, it was a case of one step forward and at least seven in any other direction possible. However, some of the mistakes Tony and Ziva made were inadvertently errors in favor – not against – their relationship.

* * *

><p><strong>Think this topic might get touched upon in S9 – as it hasn't been so far, I took the liberty of getting creative. Hope it worked.<strong>

**Huge bunches of thanks for the reviews – you are very wonderful readers and the encouragement is appreciated! Likes/dislikes, good, bad or ugly – any comments are always very helpful.**

**Thanks also to the alerters. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	6. Knowing Darkness

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.**

**OK, chapter six – still setting up the pieces, still with me? I borrowed just a little inspiration from 'Cloak,' 'the Inside Man' - if you'll forgive me.**

**As always for my stories, I've tried to write what happened to Ziva ambiguously; only Ziva knows!**

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people."<em>

_Carl Jung_

**February 2011**

"How are the mighty fallen." Tony followed the police officer into the precinct's interview room, a self-satisfied note of relish in his voice.

"Smile Zee-vah, I've gotta get this for posterity." - Aiming his 'phone as if snapping a picture.

"You are here to secure my release, Tony." Ziva did smile; one infused with the reminder that freedom meant revenge for too much enjoyment of her plight.

Inwardly Tony had flinched at the sight of her seated and bound. She was holding herself ramrod straight, the smile was a little forced. If the scene had triggered a memory for him, it must have done the same for Ziva – in much sharper relief. Making fun of her predicament would allow Ziva to refocus on Tony.

"No hard feelings?" Producing the key, the officer looked at Tony, rather than Ziva, for an affirmative.

Judging from the Federal Agent's attitude toward the woman, he might possess the magic voice of reason. Tony ignored the question.

"We were just responding to a call. We didn't know." The officer continued, removing the cuffs somewhat gingerly.

He stepped back, watching almost in admiration as Tony moved nearer to her, holding out a hand and pulling Ziva upright.

"How many?" Tony asked in mock reproach, looking down at Ziva.

This time her smile was easier, warmer. Although the idea would seem incongruous for such an indisputably dominant male, Tony was never threatened by her exceptional combat skills and Ziva always appreciated the honest esteem.

"Three." - Adding mischievously. "And perhaps one half."

Ziva indicated the policeman who had swelling and the unmistakable beginnings of an impressive bruise above his eye socket. Tony noticed the streaks of mud on Ziva's chin and cheek; the damp splotches on the knees and legs of her cargoes. A temporary warm spell had brought a thaw, the ground was very soggy, slushy and the marks were a testament she'd been forced down whilst being restrained.

Procedurally, an understandable action – one Tony had participated in on countless occasions – and entirely necessary if Ziva was in full Ninja mode. Nevertheless, armed with inside knowledge, Tony wasn't impartial. His irrational opinion of the response to Ziva's fight reflex was disapproval for the local LEOs.

As Tony gently brushed the dried dirt from her face, the cop appealed defensively once more. "Her story didn't check out. She got mad and resisted – with force."

Pondering the reality 'resist' wasn't a sufficiently accurate description of the small whirlwind of fury they'd encountered at the property. "I got one with a broken nose, one with a dislocated wrist and one still at the E.R."

"Yeah?" – Implying he was totally unfazed by the complained list of walking wounded. "That's not 'cause you made her mad…" Tony laughed unkindly. "that's just because she fucking can."

The current investigation had involved an inter-agency territorial dispute and withheld evidence. Gibbs was not a man who respected boundaries which might interfere with prosecution of his duty. Ziva had been assigned to reconnoiter a laboratory – uninvited and after hours. Unilaterally, she proceeded to gain entry and had been discovered by two private security guards – who'd never heard of NCIS and who'd also notified the authorities. Ziva's pretext for being on the premises was flimsy to nonexistent; furthermore, there was an unforeseen glitch. McGee had erased her identity several months earlier – as comprehensively and exhaustively as only McGee could. Apparently her records hadn't been restored with the same due diligence.

When the police ran the preliminary background check, they found Ziva's previous incarnation. And believed they had apprehended a foreign national, at a sensitive location who was pretending to be a Federal Agent. Annoyed by her error, at being caught and puzzled by the official confusion, Ziva's patience had worn thin and - after one shove too many from a zealous officer - snapped. Another had grabbed her shoulder; darkness, perceived attack and instinct completed the furious chain reaction. She'd used her single 'phone call to contact Gibbs – who'd dispatched Tony to sort out the misunderstanding because of his contacts with Metro.

"We've all been here. Remember the car pound?" She was still a little subdued and Tony pointed out occasional wrongful arrest featured as a rite of passage for Team Gibbs.

"I'm amazed you've gone this long without being booked for something." - Maintaining the casual manner. "Moving violations don't count." – Trying to provoke Ziva by referencing her accident record.

He dispensed a dazzling smile at a couple of prostitutes on their way to the holding cells. "Still, this does take me back."

Even when he was a detective, Tony always had a soft spot for the street girls; viewing them more as purveyors of a public service than criminals. They inhabited a perennially dangerous, seedy world and must have been someone's daughter once.

"To last night Tony?" Ziva acidly remarked; catching the direction of his gaze whilst she re-threaded her bootlaces, fastened her belt.

"Someone gets cranky when they're arrested for assault." Tony teased good-naturedly, adding with a smiled flourish. "And, how could I forget, impersonating a Federal Agent. Was it Probationary status or did you go for the full rank?"

She finished signing the necessary documents and collected her weapons.

"I was not impersonating anyone." Irritably putting the knives away and returning her back-up gun to the ankle holster.

Tony leant against the desk, watching Ziva check over her beloved Sig. "That for Timmy's blue screen of death when you corner him? Can I be there when you do?"

Upon hearing Tony's off-hand question, the Booking Clerk glanced furtively at Ziva as she handled the firearm. Given her arsenal and the injuries inflicted on his fellow cops, the man was beginning to grasp why the arresting officer had insisted she was kept isolated and hand-cuffed until satisfactory explanations, bail or formal charges were forthcoming. Ziva was still oddly uncommunicative.

"Look Vance'll make the charges disappear and McGee'll get the record straightened out." Tony guided them towards the main entrance. "Of course, it was McDoomed's fault in the first place so I understand if your faith's a little shaky."

Ziva shook her head. "This was not McGee's fault."

Then she sighed wearily, a wistful note in her tone. "If only it were that simple to make one's history vanish, by pushing a button."

"What d'you mean?" The comment brought Tony up short and he shot a searching look at Ziva.

"Nothing." She walked ahead of him, coolly dismissing his curiosity. "It was a general observation."

The barrier locked into position; whatever thought had prompted her mood was swiftly banished. Tony drew level. He suspected if he pushed the subject, Ziva's already taxed temper would flare. And it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, hardly the best time for initiating any type of discussion. Yet he was reluctant to just drive her home and leave Ziva fretting over an unknown phantom.

"Please, for the love of god Zee-vah, think of the children." Tony raised his voice slightly, sounding like a pleading spouse at the end of his tether.

"Street-walking?" - Ensuring the respectable citizenry reporting stolen cars, reclaiming lost belongings or complaining about noisy neighbors could hear the commentary. "I'm always down here in the middle of night, bailing you out…."

"Ow." Ziva ended the theatrical performance by giving him a mildly dead arm and a playful smile. The unhappy shadow had lightened.

Tony grinned; rubbing his bicep and holding the door open for Ziva with his back. "What were you picked up for again?"

* * *

><p>McGee was aghast when briefed on the error; equally horrified by any professional incompetence on his part and terrified by the possibility of retribution from Ziva. Not to mention the mix-up provided Tony with plenty of fresh ammunition. Additionally, the Junior Agent was enmeshed in his own identity crisis. Whilst Ziva's information was incomplete on some databases – trapped in cyber limbo – McGee's identity was truly absent without leave. It had been stolen and his finances were bearing the brunt.<p>

The newest case veered between advances or set back. Starting with a murder and missing family – safely found. Then the sorrowful widow was distinctly not and the corpse belonged to a wife-beater. The evidence was suggesting one of those depressing crimes which the MCRT found morally justifiable but legally wrong nonetheless.

"Is she up to it?" Gibbs stared at Ducky. The proposed strategy was intelligent and might yield results – it was also laced with unavoidable unpleasantness.

Ducky nodded. "I believe so." He closed a drawer. "I'm not saying it won't come at a price, Jethro - merely that Ziva's background may resonate with Gunnery Sergeant Wooten."

"And if it doesn't, she'll pay the price anyway." The former Marine shook his head in stating the downside.

Gibbs' dilemma was a difficult one. He maintained faithful vigilance over the well-being of his team. In essence, they were his family and Gibbs filled an understated – though deeply important - fatherly role for all of his people. Where matters concerned Abby or Ziva, he achieved a special blend of enlightened respect and old-fashioned protection. However, currently, helping another woman in trouble required asking Ziva to draw upon her own ordeal.

"She is already bearing the cost." Ducky broke into the contemplation.

"You and I can only speculate as to her experiences. We can observe their toll. Opening up to someone might, perhaps, be beneficial for Ziva also." - Tactfully suggesting a novel therapy.

On his way to the squad room, Gibbs pondered his friend's advice and a separate factor. Psychological insight was one of Ducky's areas of expertise and his judgments were usually extremely reliable.

"Ziva." – Calling her over to his desk.

"Go talk to Georgia Wooten, see if she'll admit the abuse to you." Sympathetic blue eyes conveyed the unspoken message he knew what the gruff order entailed. And his half smile revealed gratitude for her quiet nod of compliance.

Ziva headed for the elevator, there was a pause before Gibbs glanced across the bull-pen and instructed. "DiNozzo, go with her. Wait in the car."

The second part of Gibbs' musings; he had considered accompanying Ziva himself because they shared a close bond. Although, the two women would need privacy for the delicate interview, he didn't want Ziva facing any potential fall-out alone. After further thought, Gibbs had conceded Tony's connection to Ziva was on a different, much deeper level.

He was neither unseeing, nor mentally deficient, nor insensitive. Moreover, Leroy Jethro Gibbs carried extensive personal experience of love in all its guises – from wondrous joy to disastrous enmity – as a legacy. Tony and Ziva perpetually teetered on the brink of either outcome and Gibbs was convinced one day they would fall – he just wasn't sure, yet, in which direction. Willful promotion of the relationship might lay the groundwork for future problems. That worry would keep for another time; today care for his team took priority.

* * *

><p>Ziva walked down the pathway leading from Georgia Wooten's front door. She halted, on the point of turning back and making a second attempt; Gibbs' plan had nearly worked. When Ziva partially expressed her struggle, explained that she understood Georgia's pain and what the consequence were, the Gunnery Sergeant had lowered her guard. There had been a fleeting moment of recognition and empathy; which caused Ziva's withdrawal.<p>

The hasty, clumsy reference to seeking revenge – a hard, practical quest – was induced by panic. That Georgia would ask how Ziva knew. That she would have to confront the roiling mess of images and feelings raging in her head. That she would have to relive the memories, confess their existence and, thereby, expose frailty.

Tony sat in the vehicle, watching the indecision play out before Ziva resumed her departure. Gibbs hadn't articulated the rationale for Tony's inactive presence – such a measure was unnecessary, Tony could read his boss' intention. The visit hadn't lasted long and he guessed Ziva's effort was unsuccessful. He didn't need to guess that she was rattled. He was certain; because of the way she was moving and the set expression on her face. Tony got out of the car, swapping into the driver's side.

"Jesus, do you sit in front of the steering wheel?" – Grinning and sliding the seat back for leg room.

Ziva gave him a wan smile as she sat down. Significantly, she didn't protest the rearrangement.

"So what'd she say?" Tony kept the inquiry on the topic of Georgia Wooten – not Ziva.

She shook her head. "Nothing. I failed."

"You didn't fail, Zee-vah." - Starting the engine and quietly denying her ownership of fault. "She chose not to open up."

The return drive was virtually silent. Tony threw out the odd comment – unrelated to the journey's original aim – and Ziva would answer, staring steadily out of the side window. When they arrived back at the Navy Yard, Tony wandered out onto the campus park, away from the buildings.

"Where are you going?" She didn't follow immediately.

He waved his arm at the coffee stand. "Coffee run. We're out here, might as well pick up a round." – Taking a place in line and calling over his shoulder. "Want anything?"

Slowly Ziva joined him, pensively gazing at the river.

"What's that god awful slop McFussy always gets?" - A trace of joking revulsion in his voice.

She wasn't listening and Tony knew she wasn't listening; he also knew McGee's taste in coffee. It was smartly done. Ziva remained pale and preoccupied; casually Tony was offering her breathing room – a chance for reasserting composure. And he was hoping Ziva might be coaxed into addressing the underlying problem thus permitting alleviation of her stress. He handed her the cardboard holder whilst pulling out his wallet and paying.

"She will not confide in us." Ziva took her drink as he retrieved the tray.

Tony walked over to a bench – situated about halfway between the coffee shop and the office. Placing the tray on the seat - ostensibly to check the order.

"Maybe she doesn't want us involved." – Sticking his wallet inside his jacket pocket, straightening up. "She could've had enough and killed him."

Ziva trailed behind; torn between running from discomforting territory and seeking respite from agitation.

"I do not believe she did." She looked at Tony uncertainly. "Georgia Wooten is closed down but I do not think that is the reason."

Tony pried the lid off the coffee, splashing some onto his fingers. "Shit, that's hot." - Shaking the liquid off his hand and shooting a quizzical look at Ziva. "Then it's something else."

He rested against the back of the bench seat; waiting to see whether Ziva would pursue the issue – so far, at least, she hadn't bolted.

"She will not accept help." Ziva was pacing a small, irregular orbit, gripping the cup in her hands. "She is too strong-willed, independent."

Tony looked at her directly and cocked his head. "She's like you, Zee-vah, wants to deal with it her way."

The similarity was drawn as a nonchalant observation, worried about spooking Ziva. 'Tali had compassion. She was the best of us.' Ziva had once told him. It wasn't that Ziva lacked compassion; she simply didn't know what to do with it. The Gunnery Sergeant's suffering had touched this instinct and the disturbance was magnified by Ziva's own wounds. Like the Marine, Ziva projected outward strength to conceal fragility – and Tony understood. Moreover, he suspected her arrest had combined with the abused Marine's story and formed an unholy alliance.

"He was her husband." She stepped back a little. "I accepted the possible scenario, was trained for…."

"Don't let Gibbs hear you saying the Corps. doesn't train its women properly." - Interrupting the illogical rationale with an easy smile.

Ziva paused, a puzzled look in her eyes. "I volunteered."

"Did you?" He held her gaze and posed the question with quiet intensity.

She tensed, flexing the fingers on one hand. "Yes. My situation was different. I am not the same."

Tony didn't say anything for a few minutes, debating an alternate angle. Ziva was rejecting a direct link with beaten, subjugated woman; shying away from his first approach.

"What does the senior, who's been mugged, have in common with someone who's being beaten up?" Tony glanced away, thinking of suitable items for his list. "Or had a home invasion or had the shit kicked out of them in a bar brawl?"

"They are all the victims of criminal activity." Ziva's answer was prompt and very typical.

"Apart from that." - Wryly amused; she could be frustratingly literal at times.

"Violence? Injuries?" She shrugged; a faint smile on her lips. "Bad luck?" Even when he was being serious, Tony could be flippant, occasionally, in a theory's delivery.

"They'll all give you an excuse." He had been a cop for a long time and was using the experiences as a method for accessing Ziva's anxiety. She was obviously interested on some level.

"They shouldn't have taken the short-cut, dated the guy or whatever." Tony expanded the notion. "It's a kinda standard reaction to fear…."

"No, not fear." Ziva stiffened and her eyes flashed in cutting off the depiction. "It has nothing to do with fear, Tony." - Spitting out the denial and stalking away.

Tony mentally head slapped himself for not paying greater attention in selecting the word. Ziva didn't acknowledge fear; she had a hard enough time managing regular feelings. Fear dictated confusion, vulnerability and it was rigidly suppressed. Seizing the ill-judged remark and taking refuge in anger, she could justify fleeing from the distressing familiarity of Georgia Wooten's psyche.

"Fuck." - Under his breath, a heartfelt mix of exasperation and annoyance at his stupidity. He let her go.

Ziva stormed past a trash can, tossing in the nearly full cup with some force. She was unnerved by the interaction with the Marine, by Tony's concerned double view; the association of Georgia and herself. She was even more disconcerted that she derived a solid reassurance from his intuition.

Ziva craved his ability to read her apprehensions; Tony's allusion to being frightened wasn't completely inaccurate. Gradually, she stopped, turned and walked back to the bench.

"I'm not buying you another coffee." The ghost of a grin framed the charming olive branch.

Reciprocating the smile and proffered peace, Ziva perched next to him, cautiously asking her question. "She is safe now. Why would you say it was fear?"

Tony stared out at the park, constructing a neutral reply.

"Maybe not fear exactly. She doesn't want anyone to know. And if the fucking son-of-a-bitch hadn't shown up dead, if she'd found another way out, that'd be OK." His voice was harsh; Tony despised abusers of all kinds.

"Gunnery Sergeant Wooten will not let us help because she is afraid of what people will think." Ziva considered the implication.

"Yeah." Tony nodded agreement of the hypothesis. "You know, vics. have to tell a whole bunch of strangers what happened. Face it all over again. Cops ask them to repeat the story 'cause we need verification of the facts. Crime scene guys crawl all over their house."

The illustrations were very deliberately compiled and carefully avoided personalized examples. If she wanted, Ziva could maintain a comfortable distance from any disquiet.

"Or their clothes and stuff get taken as evidence. The system sorta makes it worse." He paused to see if Ziva would comment.

"If they have to go to the hospital, it's the same deal." Tony cleared his throat, rolling a pebble with his foot.

"Whether it's broken bones, or a kit and exam..." - Trying to cancel the vision of Ziva in freshly procured fatigues. "Or stitches.

"Or they just need checking over." – Steadfastly holding the matter-of-fact, calm tone.

It had been a brief glimpse - in the hospital at the military base - she'd lost weight and had appeared heart-breakingly small. The effect heightened because Gibbs had requested over-sized clothing; the loose fit would be kinder on stiff joints, painful bruises and inflamed skin. Their boss was prone to moments of astonishingly considerate, inspired thinking.

Tony glanced at Ziva, gauging her demeanor – which was more relaxed, less fraught. "She doesn't want that kinda interference. Or she's guilty."

She twisted a button on her coat. "She would like to forget or hide from what he did."

Ziva thought about the woman's trips to multiple Emergency Rooms and Walk-In Medical Centers – never the same location. The desperate desire to preserve shreds of dignity, cover shame and retain custody of her son.

"No-one wishes to be perceived as a victim, Tony." Ziva warily edged nearer the darkness. "To appear weak."

"Doesn't mean someone's weak, just human; it's a control thing." Tony hesitated over the last phrase.

Ziva's reckless indifference for her physical safety was matched proportionately by a compulsion for restriction of her emotional responses. Raising that particular matter risked provoking her defenses again.

She could dispassionately analyze the two situations; intelligently interpret the data within the context of Georgia Wooten. Since her rescue, Ziva had successfully contained the destruction. Her character denoted she could separate and discard that which was of no use. Ziva dispelled much of the bleak horror, replacing it with hope for her future. Unfortunately, the quarantine tactic only functioned if it was impermeable. Ziva couldn't allow herself to feel or draw upon the residual damage – because that would unleash insecurities and hurt. When the detached mindset and agenda collided, earlier that day, the impact created a churning turmoil. And there was no set of orders or instruction manual for guidance – she was lost.

"Injuries can be treated, will heal." – Carefully circling an admission. "Other effects will linger. Reasons can mitigate them."

"That's why people try and make it make sense, rationalize it." Tony sought to settle her renewed tension. Yet he didn't want to hit another nerve. "Want to believe they had influence, choice in the events."

"You get told I knew I shouldn't have gone out, or if only I'd…whatever works for them." – Shrugging at the infinite variations on a theme.

"Reminders are inescapable, usually harmless." Ziva frowned, taking a breath.

"Sometimes I find they are upsetting, confusing – not very often." – Quickly adding the rider against exposing flaws.

It was an imperceptible revelation of personal involvement. That she was threatened by the investigation. That Ziva was left vulnerable by the encounter. And they were no longer conversing in terms of bland generalities.

Tony studied her for a second, before very gently including the most relevant excuse. "Or they'll say I volunteered."

She met his gaze. "It is humiliating to realize that I am scared….of remembering, talking about memories – even to help someone."

Then her eyes darted down and her head dropped.

"Hey." - Softly determined, waiting until she looked at him again. "Someone had control over you, Zee-vah. Absolute power; it is very scary."

Her fingers tightened around the button. She nodded, momentarily squeezing her eyes closed; as though blotting out the notion.

"You didn't choose or volunteer for anything that happened to you." Tony continued; lightly correcting Ziva's previous claim of self-infliction.

She hadn't left, nor was she angry – just a little nervous.

"Explanations are not always easy….people can misunderstand." There was a solemn note of acknowledgement in her voice and her eyes held grave appreciation.

Tony had soothed the misery. Somehow, seemingly effortlessly, he'd tapped into her tension and doubts; even the mention of control had echoed Ziva's speech to Georgia.

"Everyone handles stuff differently." He raised his eyebrows philosophically, starting to move toward the offices.

"And, by the way, you shouldn't have to explain, to anyone. Not unless you want to." Tony glanced down at her as they walked.

Ziva noticed his eyes were darkened and his voice was low - quietly serious.

"That is your choice." He was adamant on the final point.

They progressed back to work in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"You seem to have acquired wisdom in recovering from your mid-life crazy." It was an affectionate, teasing compliment.

Partly for her own distraction – grown up Tony contributed a devastatingly appealing dimension to an already tempting personality.

Ziva was thinking of Ray and his lack of comprehension; he wasn't unsympathetic – quite the opposite. However, their conversations about her captivity were difficult. Ray asked too many questions, or didn't understand her process or challenged her perceptions. Intermittently, it seemed as though he were fixing the direction for her reactions.

Whereas, Tony simply let her react, adapting from her initial position. He would offer his two cents – only she wasn't required to accept them. Ziva was suddenly conscious she was comparing her boyfriend and her professional partner - which couldn't be a good development. And this recognition stirred a different, muddled tempest in her mind.

"Well, maybe it does come with age." – Smiling as he dumped the long-cold extra coffees into a trash can. They had served their purpose. "Christ knows fuck all else does."

"I told you Tony, older men can be extremely attractive." She couldn't resist; despite the fact, sub-consciously, a tiny anti-flirting alarm was ringing.

"I wanna be clear about this." He stood in front of her, in the lobby. "I could be attractive plus you think I'm charming." - Innocently posing an awfully leading translation of Ziva's remark.

Tony was searching for his own confirmation. During the discussion, he'd been struck by a shaft of outright jealousy; acutely aware that Ray was – rightfully – her primary confidante. Except Ray wouldn't feel like the guy negotiating Niagara Falls on a tightrope – with no safety harness. She wouldn't keep Ray at arm's length. Additionally, his place as Ziva's self-appointed guardian had been usurped.

For the second time, Tony felt something had been taken from him; the sense so strong he couldn't ignore its presence. However, Tony categorized the feeling strictly within the sphere of colleagues, friendship. He was testing to see if what they had – and that was becoming an exceedingly tricky entity, whatever it was – remained intact.

"I did not say I think you are charming." She laughed in outraged protest.

"Yeah you did." He cocked his head; there was a distinct dare in the wicked grin.

"No, I did not." – Smiling, Ziva issued a rebuttal. Then she remembered her words and swiftly amended the statement. "I said you inherited your charm from your father."

Tony bit his bottom lip, casting a speculative, highly smug look at Ziva. "Therefore you must think I'm charming."

"I meant other people might….they found you charming." – Wishing she'd heeded the internal warning; he was infuriatingly charming when he was like this.

"You didn't say other people. You just said I was charming, no qualifier." Amused because she was flustered and it was fun and they could fence like this all afternoon.

"I must update Gibbs." Ziva surrendered; opting for graceful retreat otherwise Tony would extract her agreement – then increase the charge.

"OK. I gotta go find McGee." Tony meant the mission literally; he'd a fairly good hunch as to the identity of the McGee thief.

Gibbs' premonition that encouraging Tony and Ziva's mutual support system would manifest in complications inched nearer to actuality. They were talking to each other, being more honest and trusting. The friendship was working. Improvements in this area sparked a new, fledgling re-evaluation of the entire relationship – for both of them. The jury was still out; the verdict might bring further progress or uncertainties – either way, it would be Tony and Ziva style.

* * *

><p><strong>Many thanks to the reviewers; you do a fabulous job of squashing my 'should-I-really-hit-publish' jitters! Please post a comment if you have the time. What workeddidn't, Likes/dislikes really are very helpful.**

**Thanks also to the alerters. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	7. Ideas

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.**

**OK, chapter seven – think this is mostly fluffy, hopefully in a good way. Sorry for the delay, the time gods conspired against me. I know 'A Man Walks…' was a Kate tribute and I liked Kate but she just doesn't fit my tale.**

**I'd like to wish all authors and readers a 'Happy Christmas' to those that do that: 'Happy Holidays' to those that do that – and simply 'A Happy' to everyone else!**

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself."<em>

_Charles Dickens_

**February 2011**

Ziva sat in front of the desk. This was precisely the reason she'd skipped as many Psych. Evaluations as decently possible. Registering only the attendance required in order for her to be cleared for a return to duty – and none since.

Rachel concentrated on the file and notes. Mentally concluding Ziva was going to be an exceedingly tough subject; judging from the report, the Probationary Agent had uncompromising reserves of endurance and resolution. Cooperation would not be obtained easily and thus assessment of her psychological state would be a challenge.

"I respect and like my superiors. I work closely with my fellow team members; I feel valued, supported and that my co-workers appreciate my strengths and contributions." Staring at Rachel, Ziva's tone was flat and coolly detached.

"We work long hours, in a stressful, demanding profession." It was a clever rendition of the classic buzz words and pertinent phrases; without being asked a single question.

"In order to compensate for such pressures, I ensure my physical well-being. I have social relationships and make time for leisure activities." The speech was designed to encompass all aspects of a standard session.

"Currently I am not experiencing any problems. However, were that to be the case I feel I could seek help without fear of any professional repercussions. There is a framework of assistance and open encouragement in place." She pushed back the chair, half standing; as though the interview were completed.

Rachel listened intently, nodding agreement at various points. "That's very good, Agent David. I think you've covered just about everything."

She held up a hand, indicating Ziva shouldn't leave yet. "But, I'm afraid we're not done."

Ziva settled into her seat again, clasping her hands in her lap; contained and controlled.

"Help me out here." Rachel's smile was a friendly appeal.

"I can't very well inform Director Vance and the Secretary of the Navy you've passed your mandatory…. – With a little emphasis on the word as a reminder Ziva was contractually obligated in the matter.

That Rachel was authorized in her role - by the chain of command – and using the former soldier's mindset. "…evaluation on the merits of self-diagnosis."

"Why not?" Ziva asked matter-of-factly. "You are here to establish we are fit. I have told you that I am fine. You have done your job and can release me to do mine."

Rachel nodded patiently again. "It's my report, my responsibility." She patted the folder. "I would think you could understand that?"

There was a key for everyone. Rachel hoped targeting Ziva's regimented self-possession would provide the entry point.

Ziva rejected the suggestion of confederacy; waiting impassively for the next angle.

"You've shouldered considerable responsibilities – displayed dedication - from a very early age. In the I.D.F., for Mossad: and now here at NCIS." Rachel outlined the path, before trying the lock. "Although you're only a Probationary Agent. Does that downgrade bother you?"

For the first time, Ziva shifted from enforced toleration, stiffening at the subtle jab.

"It is a necessary step. There is no point in being" A sharp little smile as she paused. "Bothered."

"Hmn." – Maintaining the air of mild interest. "Is everything simply a choice of necessary or unnecessary?"

"No." Ziva stared at her stonily. "Of course not."

Dr Cranston was very good at her work. And, despite having a hidden personal interest in Team Gibbs, was genuinely invested in the task of profiling their mental health. Moreover, having received the assignment she had prepared rigorously. Diligently reading the backgrounds, making notes and familiarizing herself with the group; possibly the most eclectic, disparate - though undoubtedly successful - operational team she'd ever encountered.

She couldn't fail to be touched by Ziva's narrative – even with extensive sections unavailable - and wished to apply her expertise. She might aid the extraordinarily courageous yet strangely apprehensive character in achieving a balance between the two extremes.

"Tell me about your colleagues." – Selecting another key.

Ziva leaned forward. "There is none better than Gibbs; as an agent and leader. Special Agents DiNozzo and McGee are very different but complimentary. We are an effective unit." Although the descriptions were official – rigidly correct and proper - there was a flicker of animation as she spoke.

A trace of pleasure that she was associated with the MCRT; that she belonged. "Dr. Mallard, Ms. Sciuto and Mr. Palmer are exceptional specialists."

A potential way in was revealed.

"You've said your working relationships are close; that wasn't, perhaps, always the case?" Rachel smiled; taking any accusation out of the observation. "At one point, you terminated your liaison with NCIS; returned to Israel and rejoined Mossad on active duty."

"There was a conflict of loyalties, agendas." Ziva shrugged dispassionately. "The status quo was untenable. It became…." – Thinking of an appropriate description.

"Necessary?" – Supplying the missing word with another calm smile.

"Difficult." Ziva returned the smile – appreciating the attempted link whilst simultaneously dismissing the ploy.

Rachel flipped through the papers, formulating the next progression. Ziva was, at least partially, engaged and less distant.

"I can imagine. Allegiance to your father, your roots; emotional involvement with your boyfriend." She looked up at Ziva. "Queried, opposed by your partner - causing a severe rift. Yet a few months later you applied for citizenship, requested a position at NCIS."

"I had much time in which to think." Her voice was steady as she made the ironic remark, remembering Tony's gentle principle. And Rachel was left in no doubt; Ziva's imprisonment would not be a topic for discussion.

"Sometimes these types of issue trust or…misjudgments, aren't always easily repaired?" Respecting Ziva's defenses, she reverted to the prima facie reason behind her mission.

The psychologist had been ordered to conduct an appraisal of the flagship team; checking for possible weaknesses or signs of fracturing.

"Tony is an excellent investigator. His motivations, actions were justified." Fleetingly the taut, watchful veil lifted from her eyes and Ziva's expression softened.

"I was wrong." – Almost as quickly the tense guard was in place. "It has not affected our professional relationship."

Rather remarkably this was true. Underneath, the deep affinity and steadfast loyalty had remained unharmed. Almost perversely, if anything, the Somalia episode had reinforced their connection. The events permitted a reinvention of the affections - which was causing other disturbances. Although, definitely not in the everyday interaction as co-workers.

Jotting a summary in a notepad and pretending to check information; "I'm curious. The men involved in your life, in this clash, and their influence…"

Before she could continue the inquiry, Ziva interrupted. "I do not see how this, any of this, is relevant." – Leaning forward, aggression simmering. "And it is none your business."

"Well, actually, it is my business; my job." Rachel smiled sympathetically.

"It all tells me something about you. All this drama… this huge upheaval." – Choosing a more tactful précis at Ziva's angry stare. "A change of profession, a new nationality; the men you're drawn to. These all help me pinpoint what you are looking for."

Ziva leant back in her chair, suddenly struck by the statement. She had intended nothing more than cursory lip service in the evaluation; however Rachel had highlighted a truth. Ziva was – had been for many months – searching for a deficient element. The sense was like an apparition - a yearning which haunted the very edges of her mind. Appearing periodically – vanishing before she could quite focus on complete identification and interpret the implications.

Noticing Ziva's response, Dr. Cranston capitalized on her advantage. "What is it that you want?"

"I want…something that is permanent." - Slowly articulating the notion, glancing out of the window. "Something which cannot be taken away."

"And you have found that here? At NCIS?" - Quietly confirming the confession.

"Yes." Ziva frowned.

She sounded a little puzzled. She was a little puzzled. In many ways the team was her family – formally adopted as part of her rehabilitation after the rescue. The acknowledgement was another manifestation of Ziva's dogged determination for rebuilding and moving forward. Nevertheless, her current romantic entanglement lived and worked in Miami – heavily committed to his territory.

She shouldn't be able to declare – without reservation – that her heart's desire was here in Washington D.C. Yet it was. The realization was perplexing, distinctly alarming. And, since Ziva didn't analyze the rationale any further, imperfect.

* * *

><p>Nine times the MCRT had been able to duck the therapists' scrutiny. Gibbs was the architect of that avoidance; staunch in the belief no-one knew his team better than he did. The squad could handle any troubles together; in their dysfunctionally functioning way. The fact Vance had overruled sparing them, on this occasion, precipitated a slight ripple of disquiet.<p>

In the brief intervals during the course of the case, Tony, Ziva and McGee commiserated. Like post-examination candidates, they compared notes – carefully omitting any questions to which they might have given an incorrect answer.

"What happens if we fail?" McGee suffered from bona fide test anxiety.

Although years of exposure to Gibbs' direct if-you-don't-have-an-answer-yet-find-me-one' technique had lessened the effects, he still doubted his abilities. "Can they re-assign us? Break up the team?"

"No-one fails a Psych. screening, McParanoid." Tony was exuding cavalier confidence. "Unless you have fantasies about killing Vance. Or read comic books." He grinned. "Oh wait, you do read comic books – oops."

His colleagues had already been interviewed. And it would be an exceptionally rare breed of shrink who dared probe Leroy Jethro Gibbs' innermost contemplations. Tony was heir apparent to the couch - he was dreading the prospect. Partly it was because soul-searching and introversion weren't main features of his temperament. Partly it was because, recently, any meditations on his life had led to increasing discontentment.

"This is just Vance covering his ass with the suits….." Tony caught sight of Rachel entering the bull-pen and discovered an urgent quest elsewhere.

She trapped him, finally, in Autopsy. There had been one earlier attempt which Tony had aborted; deflecting and mocking the process by proclaiming the obvious demons in his file. As the doors swished open, he didn't move.

"Thought we did this already?" - He was staring down at the body pulled out from its refrigerated slumber.

"Does that always work for you?" Rachel walked nearer. "Everything's a joke, never serious. Keeping people away?"

"Obviously not right now." - Faintly sarcastic as she approached, standing opposite.

Quite apart from reading his file, she felt she knew Tony – as with most of the other team members – because of her sister.

Dr. Cranston ignored the hint and tackled Tony's coping mechanism. "It won't work forever, you know."

"So what'd you want me to say?" Tony shrugged, sticking hands in his pockets.

Casually passive-aggressive; as if Rachel could supply any analysis she wanted and he would agree. That his psychological make-up could be accessed and ascertained merely by repeating planted concepts.

"What do you see when you look at him, Agent DiNozzo?" She indicated the corpse.

Tony's past was interesting; however, clearly, his current mood centered upon the deceased Commander.

Tony glanced into the room. Vincent Reynolds had taken his own life; answering Hamlet's eloquent dilemma "To be or not to be" by deciding on not being. He'd been a faithful, well-regarded servant of the U.S. Navy; capable, reliable, loved by his crew. And that was all.

"A man works his whole life, dedicates himself to his job and then has nothing to show for it." - A candid, though somewhat austere, summary.

In fact, it wasn't entirely truthful. Although, Tony had been pondering the X.O.'s biography, his concentration hadn't been especially career-related. Reynolds loved one woman - who'd married someone else - and they'd conducted a lengthy affair, across the decades. His life had been inextricably bound with the Admiral's wife; unable to have her, yet powerless to free his heart. This particular aspect echoed elusively in Tony's thoughts.

Rachel smiled a pre-emptive apology. "How does that make you feel?"

The hallowed inquiry of all mental health experts; it was clichéd but important nonetheless for her appraisal of Tony.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow, his jaw clenching – hesitant. "Afraid."

His body language was outwardly mimicking the feelings – underlining authenticity. His similarity with the dead officer – only vaguely perceived - was exceedingly unnerving. The parallel was undeniably troubling. Tony had no reason for an assumption his life would be emotionally lonely, nor romantically unfulfilled. Nevertheless, this unformed sense had permeated through Tony's musings on Vincent Reynold's tragic, despairing last act.

"I'm a good agent, Dr. Cranston, a really good one." - Shifting his attention to more solid, commonly shared worries.

She nodded. "I know. So do a lot of other people." She looked at him directly. "Has anyone ever told you that? Perhaps Agent Todd?"

Tony met her gaze, smiling recognition dawning. "I think I just realized who you are, Rachel."

She had almost recused herself from the process; fearing the suggestion of bias. The SecNav. and Vance had dismissed the protest – her professionalism would ensure impartiality. Moreover, Rachel knew the majority of her fellow practioners would condemn them unequivocally; struggling to fathom the unconventional style. Gibbs's foibles, his team's quirky composition and the attitudes were the magic which made the whole thing work.

Out of loyalty to her sister's devotion for the MCRT, Rachel would perform the task. She would be objective and certainly wouldn't overlook any critical failures. However, she would give them a pass on the harmless idiosyncrasies.

"You're good at what you do." Rachel laughed drily at the deduction.

"She did tell me once. Kate was a really good friend." - Lost in affectionate reminiscences. "A great agent, partner."

Dr. Cranston reappeared and redirected to the formal discussion. "And your partner now, Probationary Agent David?"

Tony cocked his head quizzically. "Zee-vah, well…."

"No nickname?" Rachel pointed out the omission. "They all have tags, the Boss, the Autopsy Gremlin and I'm surprised McGee ever responds to you."

Tony's penchant for creatively renaming his co-workers – and many others - was famous. She was curious as to why Ziva should be immune.

"Um, she does but I figured this was sorta official." – Puzzled by the query. "She's the Ninja."

Slight tension slipped into his demeanor. Tony was nervous of something, Ziva was bewildered – these responses apparently contingent upon referencing each other.

"A warrior." – Appreciating it was an eminently suitable label.

Tony slid Vincent Reynolds into his chilly chamber, cautiously non-committal. "Pretty much."

"Any problems with that?" Rachel explored the relationship. Ziva's lethal, comprehensive skill set might provoke resentment or irritate even the most easy-going of egos.

"Nah." – Shaking his head. "She's high-strung, complicated but Zee-vah's OK - unless you pull the pin."

She'd heard Ziva's resistant version, Rachel sought Tony's point of view over the discord several years ago. "Have you ever pulled the pin?"

"Oh yeah." Tony laughed wryly. "A couple of times." He leaned against the bank of storage containers.

"You just gotta understand her, know how to handle her, 's all." - Gazing across the antiseptic, deserted space of Autopsy, his mind clearly occupied by his junior associate.

"And you do? You know how to handle Agent David?" She couldn't help being intrigued.

For all of her subjects, wherever possible, Rachel liked to base her conclusions on a complete picture. Observing people in the widest variety of environments available; she would accompany them in the field, watch interactions in the office. During the past days, she'd noticed the squabbling, sparking dynamic surrounding Tony and Ziva.

Tony grinned. "She hasn't killed me yet." Flippantly dismissing the altered approach, he began walking toward the exit.

* * *

><p>"My team OK?" Gibbs growled the pertinent concern. They were in his estimation; he simply wanted to establish the bureaucrats would accede to his opinion.<p>

Rachel laughed. "No, but they're cleared."

She had regained composure. No-one would be surprised at the discovery the former Marine had healed the healer. Administering his own - rather more blunt - treatment; bourbon, plain facts and a poignant pep talk.

There was nothing wrong with memories. Whilst some found recollections discomforting or difficult, Gibbs used his as an analgesic. His memories were palliative care for an incurable condition; the loss of his wife and child.

"There are stresses, Gibbs, it's a really tough job." She looked at him. "You set a very high bar. Kate told me all about that." – Smiling as she mentioned the name.

Her eyes slipped to the spot on which Ari had died; at the hands of his half-sister. She accepted Tony wasn't joking when he assured Rachel that Ziva was complicated; deservedly so.

"And then there are Agents DiNozzo and David."

Gibbs returned the smile; he'd been very fond of Kate. "You pulling a shotgun on me Doc.?" The phlegmatic blue stare never wavered.

"No. Kate always said your gut doesn't give you hiccups, it gives you advice." Dr. Cranston acknowledged the twist on her parable. "But it's a potential situation."

"It's been a potential situation ever since Jen cooked up the scheme." - Pouring another shot of liquor for them and admitting the seemingly eternal conundrum.

He had chosen Tony, Kate and Tim. Hand selecting the personalities – like grading wood for one of his projects – based on an instinctive grasp of their strengths and talents. And how the individuals would merge, form cohesion.

Ziva had been re-gifted by his ex lover. However, the events in his basement combined with his intuitions and Gibbs had allowed the circumvention of autonomy. Now she was an integral component in the team – and a surrogate daughter.

He raised his Mason jar. "Time to worry'll be when it's a situation."

"Then what?" Rachel doubted the simplistic 'wait and see' wisdom.

A portion of her job description was recognizing problems, facilitating counter-measures; before the difficulties had adverse impacts. Although the speculation wouldn't form part of the report submitted to her superiors, she wanted to warn Gibbs.

"Might need that shotgun." A half-smile canceled the firm rejection of Rachel's involvement. Gibbs refused the invite; this issue wasn't her responsibility.

* * *

><p>"OK." McGee pressed the right button and transmitted a list to the plasma. "Here's the ten most frequent internet searches from that IP address."<p>

Tony surveyed them. "That's not how you spell porn."

McGee sighed. "Your private life isn't gonna help us with the case Tony."

A shipment of armaments had been intercepted and hijacked. Not a huge haul but useful – and dangerous – for anyone interested in acquiring weaponry. One of the criminals had met the Marine Corps'. definition of appropriate force – with fatal consequences. The team was tracing the investigation from data pieced together via a laptop retrieved from his apartment.

"Who's their market?" Gibbs waited for Ziva's input.

She picked up a document and handing it to her boss. "I do not believe it is terror related. There are no connections to international groups."

Gibbs glanced at the communication from Interpol; there had been no hits with known threats.

"Could be anyone who's after a little more firepower." Tony was reading over Gibbs' shoulder. "Gangs, rogue militia." He grinned wickedly. "Zee-vah."

"If you need to watch porn, Tony, perhaps it is you who are lacking in.…firepower." Her teasing remark and smile added that unique charge to their atmosphere.

Gibbs stared thoughtfully at the screen. "Number four. Pull up that one Tim."

It was a link to a local network for free advertising. The dead man had been tracking rental properties in small, rural communities.

Gibbs nodded. "That's it. Find me what he found."

* * *

><p>Tony and Ziva arrived at the small, rundown house; although that was a somewhat generous term – shack was much nearer the mark.<p>

"Tire impressions." Ziva called out. "But no vehicle."

Tony was checking the outside of the building. "Maybe no-one's home."

She didn't answer; scanning the vicinity and scrubby woodland at its perimeter - which framed the property with three sides of natural cover. Ziva looked down the long track, toward the junction with the road – assimilating a line of sight from the windows of the house.

Tony drew his gun immediately. "Or maybe they are." Quiet and serious; he didn't need Ziva to articulate the suspicion generated by her Ninja senses.

They climbed the ramshackle steps, onto the creaking boards of the porch. Tony rolled his eyes at the noise, prompting Ziva's amused smile. Then they took up positions – either side of the door – and Tony waited for Ziva's slight nod of readiness before trying the handle and carefully swinging the door open.

A stale smell of long-term vacancy, mildew and dust filled the air. Most of the rooms were empty and sparsely furnished. Neatly stacked against a wall in one of them, under a tarpaulin, were boxes of guns, ammunition and a small quantity of explosives.

Ziva crouched down, lifting the edge of the canvass. "Gibbs was right."

Glancing up at Tony, she holstered her Sig., preparing to read off the serial numbers for Tony to cross match against the list on his 'phone. Disbelief in coincidences notwithstanding, trafficking in guns wasn't an unusual occurrence; this mightn't be NCIS' particular cache.

He put his gun away, wandering a little distance and took out the cell. They'd check in and then confirm the find. Her awareness whispered and Ziva heard the squeak a fraction of a second too late. She started to straighten up, twisting to face the noise when a pipe thumped into her midriff, knocking the breath from her lungs - temporarily winding her. Already off balance, a hard kick sent her sprawling head-first into the corners of the crates.

Tony spun around, the cell clattering down, and went for his gun. Their attacker wielded the pipe again, dislodging the firearm from Tony's grasp. Recovering from the surprise Tony grabbed the end of the makeshift weapon. He pulled the man toward him; bending his arm until he dropped the pipe.

The assailant was tall, strong and heavily built – obviously capable in a physical confrontation. He launched a fierce punch which connected and Tony released the arm. Regrouping, he shifted his stance before throwing a punch and backhanding the man viciously across the face.

Tony could hear Ziva's wheezed gasp for air. The gunrunner was between him and Ziva; he needed to buy a few seconds' recovery time – then it would be two against one. As his opponent recoiled from the previous blow, Tony moved - intending to lunge for the gun which had skittered across the floorboards. When Tony turned, the attacker caught his left arm and yanked forcefully. Tony felt the pop and yelled as searing pain engulfed his shoulder.

Tony savagely shoved his other elbow into the man's head, wheeling around and connecting with an unyielding right. The maneuver achieved an advantage; the assailant was doubled over from the onslaught. Tony grabbed the man's hair and brought his knee up into his face; resulting in a sickening scrunch of soft tissue, cartilage and bone. The fight was done.

As Tony bent to retrieve his gun and 'phone – one handed and breathing heavily - Ziva stood. She shot him a look – a mix of slightly stunned and extremely relieved.

He motioned at the figure groaning on the floor. "Cuffs." His voice was tight. "I'll call Gibbs."

Ziva restrained the suspect and half dragged him over to a wall. She propped him against it, well away from any mischief, and ensured no vital airways were completely clogged. His face was a mask of blood, mucus and saliva drooling onto his shirt – Tony's last hit had been merciless.

"Tony?" She'd noticed the way he was holding his arm.

"They'll be here in about an hour, maybe a little longer." - Ignoring her real query. "You OK?"

"Yes." Although her forehead was a little grazed from the contact with the wood, she'd only been incapacitated by the muscle spasm for breath and briefly dazed.

"Tony?" – Walking over to him, Ziva's manner was firmer. He backed away from her. "Let me see what you have done."

"I know what I've done." Tony was grimly resigned. "I did it before, in college." On that occasion the dislocation was a football injury – and made a repeat more likely.

Ziva tracked his movements, cutting off the avenue of escape. "Let me see."

Tony managed a small grin. "Nuh-uh, you pull things out."

"And I am able to put them back." – Smiling at the insult.

It wasn't an idle boast. Ziva was a competent medic; trained in significantly more than basic first aid. "At least let me examine you?"

The pain was excruciating. He was light-headed and nauseous – breaking out in a cold sweat.

Ziva wouldn't be deterred. "Tony?"

"OK." He grimaced.

She felt his shoulder lightly, noting the squishy give; as if the bones were missing. "Can you move it?"

"Not really." Tony flinched at the notion.

She started unbuttoning his shirt and he took another step back.

"I need to check something; stop moving." - Scolding him with sweet gravity.

They'd worked side by side for years – under all sorts of circumstances – it shouldn't be awkward. Nevertheless, it was awkward – definitely awkward. Ziva ran her hand gently along his collar bone, her fingertips feeling for the alignment and then moved onto his shoulder – confirming her diagnosis.

Tony watched the concentration in her eyes – a fixed point of diversion from the pain and the fact she was touching him.

She glanced up at him. "I can fix this."

Just as Tony sought to defend her - when she went down – Ziva wanted to alleviate his suffering. They were protecting and caring for each other again.

"It will hurt." Typically Ziva didn't dodge the massive drawback. "But it hurts a lot now, yes?"

Tony nodded. It was agony – hurt was a miserably ineffective word for the feeling. There were only two options. Leaving the discovery unsecured and transporting a prisoner wasn't viable. He could wait several hours before reaching a hospital – so doctors could carry out what Ziva was proposing – with the added bonus of the unpredictable, unpleasant trip from painkillers. Or bite the bullet and reduce the damage now. Ziva didn't try to persuade him – she let Tony make his decision.

"OK." Tony agreed.

She positioned his arm and paused. "I need you to relax."

Tony gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, right."

"Trust me." - Both an instruction and a request – steadily, solemnly staring at him.

Tony met her gaze and swallowed. "Do it." - Gritting his teeth.

Ziva worked with cool, absolute calm which provided Tony with reassurance. Clinically rational, she wouldn't attempt the relocation if she didn't have total confidence in her ability. There was nothing tentative in the manipulation – she was gentle but firm.

"I am sorry." – Murmuring soothing compassion as she felt Tony swaying, shaking and holding his breath – impressed by his incredible toughness.

The first grinding rotation failed but the joint slid into place after a second try.

Instantly, Tony pulled away from her, pacing restlessly.

"Shit…Holy fucking….Shit." - Suddenly releasing the iron grip on his control in stream of exhaled expletives.

"Sweet fucking…." - Frantically running the inventory of his vocabulary in a vain attempt to adequately vent the tension.

"Christ….mother of fucking..." The diatribe slowed and he looked at Ziva. "Jeeesus that hurt."

She was trying to appear sympathetic, not amused. Clearly he felt much better. "Now how does it feel?"

Cautiously he wiggled his arm and shoulder. The lacerating discomfort was gone; replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. "It'll work."

Ziva chased him down again, stretching out a hand. Tony retreated.

"I want to make sure." – Following him, a little exasperated she had to explain; the worst was over.

"It's fine." Tony wasn't about to risk the sensation of her skin on his without the distracting barrier of agony. "Look Mom, I can do buttons all by myself now." – Fastening his shirt.

He cocked his head. "You're a woman of many, sometimes scary talents, Zee-vah David."

Ziva smiled at the praise, pleased she'd helped. "I can do sutures too." There was a hint of playful pride in her tone.

"Yeah, well, you're not coming anywhere near me with a needle." Tony grinned.

"You did not mind Abby's specialist nurse." Ziva pointed out tartly, appearing slightly offended.

She began a weapons check – ever practical. Accomplices might show up ahead of back up; she wished to be prepared.

"She was hot and in a uniform." Tony was teasing. Then, spontaneously, he leaned closer. "You don't wear uniforms anymore."

She blushed. Ziva never blushed yet Tony had just informed her she was hot – and she was taken aback. Ziva's stomach tightened, tingled – his voice was soft and beguiling as he made the comment.

Tony nearly tossed out a joke about breaching the Ninja Camouflage System. However, her reaction was unexpected, unguarded; and he experienced a different response. There was something so utterly gorgeous in her self-conscious smile, his mouth went dry and his heart rate ticked upwards.

Suddenly, they weren't willing to make eye contact.

"Uh, Uh can I get some water?" Like a malevolent sprite taking scissors to Cupid's bowstring, their captive's snuffled plea broke the spell.

Obstacles and interruptions - sometimes accidental, sometimes contrived – were the bane of Tony and Ziva's relationship. The moment passed. Later Ducky declared satisfaction with Ziva's intervention; the joint would be stiff and sore for a little while. However, the films revealed no other detriment to Tony's shoulder.

Dr Cranston would have found the incident noteworthy for her private speculations. Shakespeare wasn't a qualified psychologist. Nevertheless, Rachel could only concur with the characterization of love as a 'madness most discreet' – especially in regard to Agents DiNozzo and David.

Their emerging feelings pushed perceptions from the confines of abstraction; ideas and desires were becoming nearly visible, corporeal. And madness – discreet or otherwise – was highly probable in the short-term.

* * *

><p><strong>I probably don't need to, but just in case: the shoulder thing is possible - you can even DIY if you're gutsy and feel it's really necessary. However, please don't try this at home, get to a medical professional?<strong>

**Many thanks to the reviewers; you are truly a wonderful help as I scribble away! Please post a comment if you have the time. What worked/didn't, likes/dislikes are always appreciated.**

**Thanks also to the alerters. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	8. Space and Time

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.**

**OK, chapter eight – yes, we're still in February, it was a busy month in S8! I have no idea how those communication thingies work, so they did what I wanted.**

**This is mostly fluffy – I think.**

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>Love is space and time measured by the heart."<em>

_Marcel Proust_

**February 2011**

"How long do think we'll all be on Gibbs' team?" McGee asked, slowly descending the metal stairs.

Tony flicked his flashlight around the gloomy, dank building. "Are you still worrying about the mind meld with Dr. Cranston?"

An anonymous eddy of uncertainty had begun swirling around the Navy Yard. Partly it was due to budget worries and cut-backs; the awful waiting-for-the-axe-to-fall concerns of people whose livelihoods and prospects were in doubt. Naturally, within the MCRT actual job security wasn't a problem – they were on Gibbs' team, they were the best. However, as when any organization undergoes major re-structuring, there was always the possibility of re-assignment. The agents could be pieces moved in the reallocation of resources; filling gaps created by the shedding of less expert personnel.

Moreover, Gibbs and Director Vance seemed to be involved in one of their periodic head-butting seasons. It had started with Gibbs' treatment of the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' case and continued with the Psych. Evaluations. The former Marine wasn't happy with any hierarchical interference – especially when it wasn't necessary. His gut was alerted by the specific reference to the SecNav.'s interest and Vance's strained behavior these days. It could be lingering effects from the injuries sustained in November. Or it could be some other looming crisis.

"No." McGee shook his head. "I was just wondering. Ziva and I were talking about it last week."

McGee checked the schematic of the disused pump storage facility on his 'phone.

"And I'll bet Little Miss Practical told you to quit worrying." Tony grinned, waiting for McGee to find their bearings.

They'd investigated creepier and, definitely, far more dangerous places over the years. Nevertheless, Tony was content for the Junior Agent to navigate and lessen the chances of inadvertently arriving at a dead end or worse.

"Actually, Ziva asked me." McGee set off again, adding offhandedly. "Maybe she's thinking about the future."

Tony was surprised – and rattled - by the comment.

"How'd you mean?" – Trying to sound nonchalantly curious.

"Well, just….you know…." - Walking purposefully to the stairs, moving down another level. "She was texting Ray and she's…."

He became aware this probably wasn't a topic of conversation he should raise with Tony. McGee was exceedingly intelligent, observant and a good investigator. Yet his friends' relationship was beyond the comprehension of even his mighty intellect.

"Abby thinks it's getting serious." He opted for passing the blame onto their colleague.

"Jesus, I hope that was water." Tony pattered through a shallow puddle, wondering what Ziva might have told Abby which would lead her to such a conclusion.

"Why?" And fervently hoping it had merely been a slow day in the Lab.; that Abby was indulging in idle speculation.

McGee glanced at Tony, sympathetically.

"She's always in contact with Ray and all the trips…." He stopped, looked around and headed for a doorway. "It's been what…six times now?"

"Five." The correction and scoring tally were too quick and too accurate.

Tony shrugged carelessly, countering the effect with a typically facetious remark. "Long distance relationships are great. You hook up, have sex plus you don't have time to get tired of each other."

Tony heaved a rusted, creaky door open; peering into the next room.

"So you gonna ask that Maxine girl out on a date or what?" – Switching from the disturbing subject of Ziva and Ray.

"No." McGee's voice was determined but regretful.

"Why not?" Tony's easy self assurance was back in place.

"I've sworn off girls who are in trouble and seem interested in me." McGee explained glumly.

He shone his flashlight around, noting their location once more. Getting lost in the labyrinthine depths of the plant would be neither pleasant nor sit well with their boss.

"Face it, you were the plot coupon." Tony laughed, making fun of the younger man's affable naiveté. "Hitchcock's MacGuffin. Doesn't mean you should give up, McGuffin."

McGee was still smarting over having been fooled by a diplomat's daughter. Falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book; the fact she was also being used – by her boyfriend - didn't soothe his embarrassment. Especially since it meant he and Tony spent one night enjoying the hospitality of the F.B.I. and earned them a severe dressing down from an already tetchy Vance.

"Who said I'm giving up?" McGee protested defensively.

Tony walked ahead of him; the slow pace of the search was becoming boring. "The guy who's been working with you for the last seven years."

"I'm just being cautious, waiting a little while." He caught up with his co-worker. Maxine was a brilliant gamer, she was very attractive and McGee was very tempted.

"Well don't wait too long or you might miss out on all that geeky goodness." Tony leveled the light on McGee's face with an extraordinarily suggestive grin.

McGee stared at Tony, thinking. They were good friends – all of them – certainly more than simply members of the same unit. For many years McGee had witnessed Tony and Ziva conduct the personal version of a screwball comedy. Occasionally, the comedic element was replaced by dark drama or touching emotion. He didn't pretend to understand how the contradictory temperaments coalesced on such a fundamental level. He only knew they did.

"Have you ever thought about taking your own advice, Tony?" He appreciated the encouragement and wanted to return the favor.

"I mean about….not…er...not waiting….because you might...erhm." - Hesitant and wishing he'd formulated the idea thoroughly before beginning to speak. "….miss…You know, the girl might get away?"

"Course I haven't. I'm not stupid." – Casually ignoring the offered hint.

Not ungraciously; the aim of McGee's awkward, inexact statement was unnerving and levity was Tony's default setting in response. "Trust me; the ones that get away are the perfect fantasy – no chance to screw it up."

The conversation was abruptly interrupted when they nearly collided with the worse; Tony's flashlight illuminated a gruesome corpse. "This guy didn't get away and he's definitely no-one's fantasy."

* * *

><p>"Always works in the movies." Grinning, Tony rolled onto his back. "I think Skynet just went self-aware."<p>

He'd launched a last ditch stretch for Ziva's flashlight – dropped accidentally when the rigged booby trap was sprung. Pulling his fingers out of harm's way just before the huge, door groaned and clanged shut with swift, oppressive finality. They were imprisoned.

"McGee, is there a reset button you can hit?" - Carefully watching Ziva as he waited for the answer.

"This isn't a video game, Tony." The harassed Junior Agent snapped impatiently.

Ziva grabbed the hand Tony held out and hauled him to his feet. She was studying the door.

"That door's not moving." He'd noted the thickness whilst trying to retrieve the other light.

"I'm not kidding. So keep that fucking firearm holstered, Zee-vah." Tony was deliberately stern his command.

"Nothing short of an RPG's gonna move it." – Taking the sting out with a joke because she'd resisted; they weren't ducking a ricochet. "And I'm all out of RPGs."

Ziva took the remaining flashlight from his grasp.

"It is possible there is a release mechanism." - Directing the beam at the recess from which the door had emerged and trying to stick her fingertips into the tiny gap.

Tony leaned against a wall. "OK."

The space was a little more than twelve feet by fourteen feet in dimensions and about twelve feet in ceiling height; windowless and pitch black. It was extremely unlikely there would be any method for retracting the heavy seal from within. There was no point in setting a trap if one didn't want any intruders caught and the threat neutralized.

Ziva began running her hand along the surfaces. "Somewhere there may be a trigger."

"OK." He nodded; calm and relaxed.

In the dim, shadowy glow cast by the flashlight dancing, Tony could see the strain etched on Ziva's face. She didn't like being confined. She never had. A good asset always has an exit strategy – even if the plan alters due to changes in circumstances. And Ziva was an exceptional operative.

Additionally, containment was an anathema to the vital energy which emanated from her – both physical and mental. If required, for missions, Ziva could be remarkably still and restrained; although the intrinsic motion was perpetually bubbling beneath. Like sub-atomic particles; neutrinos moving faster than the speed of light. Constantly recalibrating, assessing situations – mounting and reinforcing defenses – on permanent guard.

Tony suspected the characteristic had been exacerbated by the Somali experience. Not having an escape route would be harder this time around than during the shipping container episode. He made no attempt to curtail her search or mention its fruitless nature. She needed to be able to get some of the anxiety out of her system.

Ziva crouched down to examine where the wall and floor met. "If we can find it, we can get out." – Glancing up at him and smiling.

"OK." Tony maintained the air of patient tolerance.

He watched her shuffle along, working a meticulous line all the way around the chamber before standing with a frustrated sigh. Then Ziva looked overhead and he could see the proposition forming in her mind. It would be impossible for her to reach by herself.

"No. That's not gonna happen." Tony shook his head firmly. "McGee, what's going on?" He tried raising MTAC on the comms. link.

"Little busy right now." Poor McGee was guiding Gibbs through the maze against the clock and with significantly more at stake than kudos in the game chat rooms.

Ziva started pacing the length of the room. She halted as a muffled bang sounded and they could hear McGee calling frantically for Gibbs.

"Oh shit…" There was an awful pause. Tony raised his eyes heavenward in relief when the boss growled his survival.

Ziva resumed her concentrated path and Tony reached out a hand, stopping her in mid stride.

"Hey, McGee'll find the 'open sesame' button." - Half teasing, half soothing reassurance.

"I know." Her steady voice belied the tension he could feel throbbing in her arm.

"We could be helping Gibbs if we were not…." Ziva waved the flashlight irritably around their cell. "In here."

She was hiding behind the veneer professionalism; which worked until distant - but distinct nonetheless - gunshots rang out in succession. Ziva held Tony's eyes and the apprehension was clearly visible. There was no way of knowing whether Gibbs was shooting an attacker or had come under fire. They were utterly useless in terms of the first option and, if there were armed assailants on the premises, Tony and Ziva would be next on the hit list. On the second option, their defensive capabilities were extremely limited – never a scenario which contributed to Ziva's relative inner peace.

"McGee?" This time Ziva contacted their colleague.

For another tortuous moment there was no answer, followed by a single gunshot.

McGee - slightly horrified and vastly happier - crackled into her ear. "Gibbs just killed the mainframe."

McGee's announcement was literal – Gibbs had emptied his gun into the machine. The tactic was beautifully simple, highly effective and perfectly 'Gibbsian' in execution – unfortunately, it also meant nothing wired into the system would function. McGee wouldn't be able to override the door control.

"That's great. Now get us out of here." Tony instructed completely unaware of the hitch.

"Uh, Tony, that's a bit complicated.…." McGee reluctantly began the explanation.

"Because Gibbs destroyed the computer, I can't do it from here." – Pausing before he delivered the bad news. "You're going to have to wait for the Fire Department."

"How long's that gonna take for Christ's Sake?" Tony's question was less than enthusiastic.

Worry about Ziva mixed into the unappealing idea of an indefinite spell in what was, basically, a dark cave.

McGee was fielding several crises at once with – for the most part – particular cool.

His normally even temper was struggling under that amount of pressure. "Look Tony, I'm doing my best. The NSA's here, Gibbs isn't back yet." He was annoyed. "The Pentagon's safe – temporarily - but they need my input."

"Ballpark?" Tony accepted the unavoidable delay.

"I don't know. Sit tight." McGee's gratitude was obvious. "Can you get a cell signal from in there?"

Ziva switched on her 'phone and tested. "No McGee." She relayed the findings, looking at her watch. "We will check in every thirty minutes."

This time Ziva was one step ahead of Tony, pulling out her communications device and flipping it off. "Battery life."

Tony nodded understanding and did likewise. She turned around, walking away a few paces; restless and edgy.

"Looks like we're stuck in the Panic Room for a while." Tony glanced at her speculatively. "You're not gonna go all freaky on me, are you?" His inquiry was light-hearted, though concerned.

"I do not go all freaky." – Sharply refuting the allegation. Ziva propped herself against the far wall, one arm folded across her stomach – as if to illustrate the denial. Now she was a portrait of caged agitation.

"Well that's a matter of opinion, Zee-vah. You do have your moments." He sat down at the opposite end, in a corner – stretching out his legs, crossing one over the other.

"And remember, it's just you and me, so if you feel anything please don't snap my neck." Tony mocked gently.

Ziva had retained possession of the flashlight, the bright glare created a huge contrast between lit and unlit. Tony was partially recessed in dark shadow and Ziva wasn't entirely visible because of the gleam. They couldn't quite see each other.

"It would depend on what I was feeling Tony." – Unable to help laughing as she made the retort.

Despite being visually obscured, they could read each other's expressions, moods. Tony knew sensible stoicism was establishing itself and settling Ziva's disposition. And Ziva knew Tony was quietly making fun of her attack reflex out of affection.

"Did you hear Melissa from Payroll poured soda over the new guy in Cyber Crimes?" Ziva moved toward the doorway. "In the Break Room."

The MCRT provided an ample supply of foliage for the gossip tree. However, they weren't impervious to the delights of enjoying the scandals and rumor surrounding others at the Navy Yard – whether true or false.

"I heard threw is more like it." Tony watched her scrutinizing the problem; entertained by the stubborn streak in action. "I'd love to know what he did to deserve the shower."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Abby did not know for sure." - Smiling with a little mischievous relish. "But apparently he has been sleeping with Melissa and a girl from his unit. I cannot remember her name."

"That'd do it." Tony grinned in appreciation, closing his eyes.

"Perhaps if we could find a way…." She swiveled around to face him.

"Zee-vah, let it go." Tony opened one eye, squinting against the light – a tinge of reprimand in the order. "Talk to McGee. See if he knows anything yet." It hadn't been half an hour but it would keep her attention occupied on the practical.

The conference with McGee was disheartening. The Fire Department was aware of their plight and working on a solution. Unfortunately, since no-one was in immediate jeopardy and the building was known to be set up with hazards, they were proceeding with an abundance of caution. A D.O.D. bomb squad had been summoned; all potential avenues were being explored. In short, Tony and Ziva weren't going anywhere, anytime soon.

"Think McGee'll ask Maxine out?" Tony was thinking of the discussion a couple of days earlier.

Ziva was pacing again. "No. He should." She sounded disapproving of their teammate's reticence. "I know she likes him. And I think he is interested in Maxine?"

"Oh yeah. He is." Tony replied confidently to the inquiring statement.

In the bobbing back and forth beam cast by the flashlight as Ziva played sentry, Tony noticed tendrils of foggy breath. Her hands were pulled up into her sleeves and the tone when she spoke was tight – as if she were trying to control her voice. He wasn't surprised. They were in the interior of an abandoned industrial structure, at night, in a concrete bunker. It was absolutely freezing.

"You cold?" - Casually posing the suggestion.

"No." Ziva's march paused as she emphatically rejected the charge.

Tony shook his head in disbelief; she wouldn't admit any weakness. "You should probably stop shivering then."

"Yes." – Slightly contrite, recognizing he'd known the answer before asking the question.

He grinned wickedly, beckoning for Ziva to join him. "So come over here and we'll see if we can generate a little body heat."

"I thought you did not wish anything snapped, Tony?" She tilted her head and a teasing smile twitched Ziva's mouth.

"I'm cold too." Tony appealed on the principle of shared comfort.

That was true and, more importantly, Ziva's real-time demonstration of Newton's First law would eventually drive him crazy. If he could persuade her to cease for a few minutes, Ziva's stress might ease – which would mean Tony's alert level could unwind. She sat down beside him, placing the flashlight on its end – like an up-lighter or rather odd candlestick.

Tony glanced at her. "Last time we were locked in someplace you cooked me Lasagne."

Remembering the shipping container; the fact he'd mockingly asked when she first realized her Daddy wasn't perfect. Ziva hadn't answered. It was the first time Tony had witnessed the wounds inflicted – only the merest hint – and how swiftly Ziva could withdraw behind the barricades. He concluded he would never have made the quip if he'd any grasp of her father's truly Machiavellian persona.

"And I almost killed you with a stray bullet." Ziva smiled at the reminder. It was so long ago, almost unfamiliar.

"It was worth it for the Lasagne." Tony shrugged helplessly as Ziva raised an eyebrow at the food fixation. "I'm gonna get hungry at some point."

"Then you should stop thinking about eating." She admonished playfully.

"It will only make it worse." Ziva bit her lip and glanced away. "I know."

"When I was held…." She paused whilst recalling a time which seemed as equally distant as the early days at NCIS. "I used to plan menus and cook in my head sometimes - for a distraction."

She smiled ruefully. "It sounds crazy, yes?"

He'd never pondered the reality that for months Ziva was probably permanently hungry and thirsty. An additional deprivation to that of freedom and a twisted extra on the pain and fear; he marveled at her resilience.

Tony cocked his head. "Not if it worked – that whole deal was fucking insane." – Gently earnest admiration in his comment; unthinkingly, Ziva huddled closer.

As a means for producing warmth between them, the current pose was somewhat ineffective – the side of one leg and shoulder were the only parts in contact. They sat in silence for several minutes. Tony wondered if Ziva would elaborate further on Somalia. She rarely spoke of the issue and he never pushed. Ziva had relegated much of the trauma to past history – inconsequential for the present or future.

Her musings centered upon their previous incarceration at the dockyard. They barely knew each other, which was a peculiar consideration. Her perceptions of Tony then were, for the most part, completely erroneous. And now she couldn't imagine life without him – a strangely disconcerting thought.

The latest update on the rescue was positive though frustrating; best summed up by 'we're working on it.' Ziva was fidgeting; drawing up her legs, then extending them or wriggling her butt and back against the wall. Tony unzipped his NCIS windcheater.

"What are you doing?" Ziva turned her head at the noise and movement.

"You can sit on this." – Leaning forward and starting to remove the jacket.

She smiled, acknowledging the gallantry. "And you will be even colder." – Clasping his arm in prevention.

Check-mate by mutual care – they stared at each other for a second. Ziva scrambled to her feet, tapping his leg with a foot, indicating Tony should uncross his legs.

"Jesus Zee-vah, warn me next time?" Tony complained jokingly as she thumped onto his lap - a little taken aback by the bold solution.

She perched across his legs, at a right angle – his back was against one wall, hers the other. The position achieved the required criteria; there was a respectable gap between bodies, they would be marginally warmer and Ziva was no longer sitting on the floor.

"Sorry." – A diffident apology.

It also encompassed the distinctly non-fraternal twin sensations of singularly comfortable mingled with a trace of something less solid, perhaps dangerous. That charge evident because Tony and Ziva kept their hands to themselves - rigidly imposing non-contact.

"Palmer and Breena are very involved." Ziva chose another burning topic from the Navy Yard Library of Scuttlebutt. "Abby thinks they might get engaged."

"Morticia and the Autopsy Gremlin? Maybe." Tony grinned. "I can see it now; embalming fluid, scrubs, lilies and major organs…..

"You are just being cynical." – Laughing at his depiction of the romantic proposal for a mortician and an apprentice pathologist. "I think it is sweet."

Tony leaned his head back. "If they do, she'll ask him. Doubt he's the backbone for it."

"Now you are being unfair." Ziva's remark was full of amused reproach.

"I'm serious." Wryly charming, Tony protested his innocence. "Asking a girl if she'll marry you takes a lot of nerve."

It was on the tip of Ziva's tongue to ask how he - of all people - would know, when the meaning became explicit. Obviously, Tony knew because he must have proposed to someone. She looked at him, stunned curiosity tearing through her mind.

"Yep." Tony's reply to the unasked query was full of keen self-satire.

Ziva didn't say anything for a few seconds, assimilating her unexpected discovery. The indelicate, all-consuming nonetheless, mystery was the identity of this woman. And whether she had accepted or rejected his suit.

"Jeanne?" Trying not to appear indecently intrusive, Ziva proffered the only candidate amongst Tony's plethora of girlfriends who could remotely fit the profile.

"Oh god no." Surprised by Ziva's link, his response was slightly appalled. "I mean….I can see why you'd think that."

Tony met her gaze. "It was serious….I cared about her, a lot." - Correcting the almost unfeeling dismissal.

"I thought I loved her…." He glanced off Ziva's look, staring into the darkness.

He was sifting through events he hadn't considered for years. "…but I didn't love Jeanne, not really anyway."

Tony gave her a resigned smile. "Although I guess at the time, I was pretty convincing."

Ziva had observed unhappily as the convoluted, ill-conceived operation unfolded. Jenny's vengeance sought via manipulating and meddling in the lives of others. Moreover, she'd seen its aftermath and Tony's hurt. Eventually he'd realized the painful feelings associated with Jeanne were more guilt-ridden than heartbroken. Although, initially, having become embroiled in his cover and lost focus, the distress was genuine.

"It felt real. Here." Ziva slipped her hand into his jacket, lightly placing it just over his heart.

"And that is what mattered." – Smiling sympathetically. "Michael did not love me."

"You don't know that." Tony reciprocated the sentiment.

Rivikin had harmed Ziva with his destructive betrayal. His comment was an attempt at mitigation.

"He was carrying out instructions, just like me." Conceptually it was an unavoidable analogy – although that inevitability made the resemblance no less distasteful from Tony's perspective.

Ironically, it was his willing ownership of culpability which was the crucial component separating the conduct of the two men.

"He was Mossad, acting for my father. He could have confided in me." Ziva dispassionately outlined her differential.

Tony had been deceiving the arms dealer's daughter – as Director Shephard's instrument. He hadn't deliberately shattered every aspect of her existence. Rivkin and her father had maliciously exploited Ziva's professional loyalties, her personal affections – regardless of any damage to Ziva. Blurring the picture and preying upon her connections until Ziva was left totally isolated with no-one to trust.

Instinctively, she couldn't permit Tony's claim that he was a duplicate. "That was not the case with Jeanne. And you did not place her in a compromising position."

"'Cause I can think of a lot more fun positions to put a woman in." A salacious grin flashed and disappeared. Ziva couldn't help her laugh.

"Jeanne didn't love me either. She didn't know me." – Shrugging and reverting to seriousness. "You were right, Zee-vah. I wasn't who she thought I was. Guess it took a while for me to figure that out."

"I did not love Michael." Ziva glanced at Tony.

"Thought you said you'd never know?" He cautiously tested the assertion.

"It did not make sense." She fixed her eyes on the flashlight. "When I….thought about him….it was not enough."

During her captivity, Ziva had analyzed the Rivkin disaster; categorizing all of the participants and assessing their behavior.

She had allowed love's silhouette - its insubstantial shadow - to control, cloud her judgment. "I was sad - not angry with him."

"He lied to me, used me." Ziva gave a small shrug, recalling the moment she recognized indifference. "And I should have been angry."

Tony frowned - she usually followed clinically rational lines. Her last statement was an apparent detour into the realm of the paralogical.

"Um, he was dead?" – Drily pointing out the seemingly flawed rationale. "And you were very angry with the guy who shot him."

"It is an emotion, anger, is it not?" - Smiling faintly at Tony's honest précis, her inquiry was rhetorical. "One cannot feel deeply if one does not care for someone."

The cool logic emerged. Ziva's impassioned ire had been directed toward her father and Tony. Her trust callously abused by the former and her vulnerabilities protected intuitively by the latter. Officer Rivkin's impact didn't register beyond the parameters of spiteful deception.

He shot her a searching look. "There's a fine line between love and hate?"

"Yes." Ziva nodded. "Except, you are my partner and so that is why…." – Hesitating and suddenly adding an amendment. "It meant we….Our conflict was work-related."

Ziva's theory was somewhat correct; parts of the same neural circuitry govern both emotional reactions. However she stumbled accidentally into hazardous territory. She had lashed out at Tony because he was too close – which was frightening. He had risked his career for Ziva and Tony was angry because she didn't comprehend his integrity - the blade of Occam's Razor glinted in their present exchange.

When faced with competing hypotheses, that are equal in other respects, selecting the one which makes fewest new assumptions is advisable. The simplest explanation will be, generally, the most plausible. The boiling tensions and furious arguments could have originated only from extremely deep feelings. That deduction must be grounded firmly in the motivation of co-workers; a subjective state objectively quantified for convenience.

"If it was not Jeanne, then to whom did you propose?" - Seizing the initial cause of the debate on the nature of love for a diversion.

"Wendy." Aware the name would be meaningless to Ziva, he continued. "It was years ago. I was a little older than you - in Baltimore. She's a teacher, or she was."

"And she said no?" Her remark was another manifestation of neutral reasoning; Tony was neither married, nor divorced.

"She said yes." – Grinning because she'd overlooked that possibility. "Aren't you shocked?" Tony mocked the suggestion he was husband material.

"It wasn't long before I signed on with Gibbs. Then she was in Baltimore, I was in D.C." More sober, candid in the admittance of failure. "I got irresponsible, fucked it up."

The conversation stalled for a few minutes. Ziva was contemplating a new facet of Tony's character. Imagining his younger incarnation; he had made plans for the future, counted on sharing his life with this woman – the absolute essence of commitment.

Tony's thoughts were of how strangely unreal the idea appeared after the passage of ten years. He hadn't cheated on Wendy. Nevertheless his neglect was partly the cause of their break-up. The distance between the cities was minimal yet he became immersed in the MCRT and they drifted apart.

"It cannot have been that simple." Ziva gravely challenged the total self-indictment.

Tony smiled, touched by her incredibly sweet faith in him. "I wasn't paying attention. She got lonely, met someone else." He paused, remembering the slow death of his engagement.

"An Accountant….better pay, better hours." – Inclining his head in philosophical relief over a lucky escape. "It wasn't gonna work."

Throughout the course of the discussion an alteration in the seating arrangement had occurred. Gradually, Ziva had shifted around until she was nestled into Tony, one hand tucked inside his jacket. Tony's arms had wrapped around Ziva, holding her against him. The air temperature certainly hadn't risen; the repositioning could be attributed to basic physical needs. Yet the most salient aspect was the fact Tony and Ziva were, essentially, cuddling. And neither were the slightest bit discomfited by the proximity.

"Guess that's something else I inherited from Dad." – Ruefully noting the DiNozzo curse concerning relationships.

Ziva looked up at him. "No, Tony. You did not end up in the Divorce Courts." She curled a little closer. "Or unhappy and disappointed, as did my parents."

"True." Tony's grip tightened reflexively, responding to the empathy and gratefully receiving absolution.

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm still alive too. Remember that Petty Officer who'd offed three husbands before anyone noticed?"

"Yes." Ziva smiled. "The bodies were on a farm, the one with all the cows. You wanted to shoot them."

"No I didn't." Tony objected, slightly indignant. "I was gonna discharge my weapon to scare them away, preserve the crime scene."

"You wanted to shoot the brown one." Tony was a city boy – animals, the countryside were great as long as he didn't have to interact with them.

"It made you go all freaky." Ziva teased on his earlier definition of her mood.

"It kept staring at me." Grudgingly he abandoned any pretence. "Least I didn't put a suspect in a choke hold for standing too close to me." - Leveling his own joking accusation.

"He asked to touch my hair. It was creepy." Lingering revulsion tinged her voice which was replaced by laughter. "Do you remember that man with the Star Wars doll?"

"Collectible figurine." Tony corrected, grinning wickedly. "Don't knock it, Zee-vah. McElrond's probably got a whole army of Elf Lord action figures."

Although amused, Ziva defended their teammate vigorously. "McGee does not live in his mother's basement."

"Shit, speaking of McGee…." Tony winced, hastily contacting the Navy Yard.

Engrossed in the conversations - completely absorbed by talking – they'd lost track of time and forgotten the scheduled check-ins. "Maybe half an hour. Said we'll hear the noise outside."

The reminiscences and resurrections from the past served as a Hall of Mirrors for their joint experiences. Reflecting the partnership back toward each other; displaying the endurance of Tony and Ziva's entanglement – nearly six years. And the vast array of situations in which they had operated; perilous to frivolous and all points in between. Tony became conscious Ziva was still; not entirely. Nevertheless, the ever-present internal velocity was significantly lessened. The taut, humming energy settled into softness - almost relaxation.

Ziva noticed Tony was far more open, secure when speaking about his past and worries. The façade dropped; its successor was quiet sincerity – acknowledging mistakes. Cocooned in an artificial environment, the base pairs started forming in the double helix which had encircled them from the very beginning. The separate yet complementary strands spliced more intricately.

"Tony?" An edge of caution entered Ziva's tone.

"Uh-huh?" Whatever was coming next, Tony felt her tension level increase.

"Have you ever wondered….about…I was thinking….." Despite being fluent in numerous languages – including the language of love - Ziva became astonishingly inarticulate in both that and English. "Have you ever wondered about us?"

He shifted his head and looked down at her. "What about us?" - Too slow in connecting the change in her demeanor to the subject.

"If we had….if we had met and….." Ziva smile underlined the uncertainty revealed in her disjunctive speech. "What it would be like if….we did not work together….?"

Tony bit his bottom lip, studying her speculatively.

"You mean if you'd just been the assassin-chick-next-door?" He grinned, momentarily amused by the image. "Well, assuming I'd survived the introductions, I guess we'd be the same."

Ziva nodded pensively - although she remained silent.

"Why?" Tony was intrigued. His inquisitive temperament crushed the dim sense they were skating onto wafer thin ice.

"Do you think we would…." She hesitated, taking a small breath. "Would we be…."

"Friends?" Tony tentatively offered; suddenly as unsure as Ziva.

The atmosphere was filled with a marked, fragile expectancy. Their eyes locked.

"Yes. Friends." Ziva echoed his suggestion plaintively.

"We are friends, aren't we?" Tony prompted. His thoughts hovered agonizingly over her unknown goal. "What d'you mean? If we weren't on Gibbs' team we…"

"No." Ziva interrupted quickly, retreating. "I meant we are friends."

Friends; the word should imply a positive. It conjures feelings of warmth, affection and close bonds. Instead, in this context, it seemed as cold, barren and unfeeling as the dreary dungeon in which Tony and Ziva were enclosed. Both of them found the characterization of their relationship in terms of an amicable link, achingly hollow and unsatisfying. Only neither of them dared make a confession.

Outside thuds and shouting penetrated the walls. Reluctantly, Tony slid Ziva off his legs. "That's our St. Bernard. Let's hope they packed the brandy."

* * *

><p>"So what did you do for over three hours?" McGee stopped in front of Tony's desk – en route to his appointed date with Maxine.<p>

Tony leaned back in the chair. "Played strip poker." - Utterly deadpan in his delivery. "Zee-vah lost."

"Funny, Tony." McGee shook his head, exasperated, and headed for the elevator.

His suspicions were raised already by the lengthy radio blackout – Tony and Ziva should have been pestering him for updates. Now they'd given different, obviously false, accounts; just like the Paris booking mishap. On that occasion the discrepancy meant either they slept in the same bed or on the same sofa. McGee didn't like to visualize precisely what that might mean - primarily for brain-bleaching reasons. Furthermore, he'd decided the only chance against self-incrimination over his colleagues and Rule #12 would be a plausible deniability clause.

"Drink?" Tony stared across the squad room.

The pattern of 'don't-ever-call-it-a-date' dates had continued in the intervening weeks, becoming more frequent. To such an extent that Tony and Ziva had sub-consciously started keeping Thursday nights and Sunday mornings available. On week nights it was usually just a drink, sometimes dinner. At weekends they took turns in picking the entertainment. The most recent outing had been to the International Spy Museum – Tony's choice. An opportunity for gratuitous mocking plus Tony had insisted on buying Ziva a gimmicky lipstick pen because no female operative should be without such an item.

"No. Not tonight." Ziva picked up her bag, glancing at him quickly. "I have something which needs organizing."

The good-natured mood vanished abruptly. Tony swallowed. "He's back."

Ray was traveling home from Guam. Initially he requested Ziva use vacation days and meet up with him in San Diego for a long weekend on the West Coast. She declined and didn't intend flying down to Miami for a shorter break. After failing in his efforts at persuasion, Ray sent her a ticket and hotel reservation for Charleston – she had once expressed a desire to visit the stately Southern city. He floated the trip as a belated St. Valentine's Day gift – a romantic getaway. Although vexed by the autocratic decision – and a little perturbed by her reaction - Ziva agreed.

"Yes." Ziva was avoiding his gaze. "And I am away this weekend."

She smiled briefly and left. Ziva dismissed the oddly forlorn feeling that she wouldn't be spending the regular evening with Tony – banishing regret. It was ridiculous; she was preparing to visit her boyfriend whom she hadn't seen for several weeks.

Watching Ziva walk away, Tony concluded he needed to get laid – very badly. This time the sensation wasn't a vague feeling of loss. This time it hurt.

They had opted for friendship through cowardice. Like all compromises, the negotiated treaty left neither side contented. The mistake was in seeking sanctuary in the penumbra; the indistinct grey area which masked hopes and disguised fears. A Canadian philosopher once wrote darkness is to space what silence is to sound – the interval. Enveloped in the blanket of semi-darkness, in their temporary prison, Tony and Ziva had reached the interval.

* * *

><p><strong>I know Wendy was Tony's H.S. music teacher but I just couldn't bring myself to write that – it's simply too peculiar. No offence to anyone out there who married or whatever one of their school teachers!<strong>

**Huge thanks for the reviews – always glad to know you're enjoying the story and aren't bored yet! Please post a comment if you have the time. What worked/didn't, likes/dislikes are really useful.**

**Thanks also for the alerts. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	9. Desperation

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.**

**Sorry for the delay in updating. I had a more manic schedule than usual; January was supposed to be the quiet month… The good news is the next few weeks are looking better. Plus I have had awful trouble logging in to the Fanfic. site. Maybe it was trying to tell me something?**

**Chapter nine warning: this is S8 so E.J. & Ray are involved because they help tell the story. If you don't like Ray-Jay interacting with T&Z, you might want to look away from the screen for the next few chapters, in case it is disturbing.**

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>Desperation is a tender trap; it gets you every time.<em>

_You put your lips to her lips, to stop the lie."_

_U2 – So Cruel_

**March 2011**

March came in like a lion. Or, more accurately, a lioness crossed with a wolverine hybrid. It brought a blizzard of pink slips, reassignments and general festering uncertainty. It also brought a small, blonde bombshell in the shape of Special Agent Erica Jane Barrett. There was no explanation given from either Vance or the lady herself. She merely mentioned her prior posting in Spain and her rank. Special Agent Barrett did give unsolicited advice on Tony and Ziva's case discussions. The supercilious swagger and calculated air of mystery did not engender enthusiasm for the new arrival with anyone - except Tony.

"What d'you reckon, Zee-vah, think the lost Ark's in here somewhere?" Aiming and throwing an imaginary football down the long corridor. The channel was framed by the towering shelves of stacked boxes, furniture and other seized possessions in the cavernous warehouse.

"I hope not if Security Guard Wilson is tasked with its protection." Ziva drily passed judgment on the amiable guardian of Leona Phelps' treasure trove. "A pit of snakes would certainly be more effective."

Tony paused in drawing back his arm as he lined up the next pass to his phantom receiver. "You've seen that one?"

"Yes." Zee-vah gave a smug little smile. She hadn't been entirely sure which installment was which; it might have been snakes, rats or bugs. "Did you forget I took a course in movies?"

"I figured you didn't watch any actual movies." Recognizing her pleasure, he glanced at Ziva with a teasing grin. "Just read books about them."

The joking exchange was something of a relief. The imported agent had been ensconced at the Navy Yard for barely half a day and already tensions were increasing, especially between Tony and Ziva. Initially Ziva placed Tony's engagement within the context of his insatiable curiosity. However, she couldn't fail to notice E.J. manner in dealing with Tony. She was used to encountering members of the opposite sex who found her partner attractive. Indeed, in the rare moments she permitted the honesty, Ziva admitted to herself his appeal was exceedingly understandable.

Furthermore, she was very well acquainted with Tony's almost automatic appraisal of beautiful women. Not necessarily with the intention or desire of sleeping with all of them; it was more of a pastime. Like a connoisseur appreciating fine art or savoring vintage wine, Tony simply enjoyed looking at the female figure. Today Tony's behavior declared that he reciprocated E.J.'s interest beyond the standard level. For Ziva, this particular recognition stirred a puzzling sense of deprivation.

"The Director has brought in Special Agent Barrett and her team from Spain." Ziva coolly raised the subject which had preoccupied her thoughts whilst they reconnoitered the storage facility.

Tony's reaction when E.J. mentioned Rota had caught her attention.

"I wonder if that means there will be further reassignments. Perhaps others may be sent abroad." - Carefully establishing nonspecific parameters for her observation.

"Maybe." Tony was equally neutral. He wasn't fooled by her demeanor; she had an angle.

He had noticed Ziva's brief, quizzical glance when Rota was mentioned. For several months they had achieved nascent empathy and enhanced affinity through open communication; building on the foundations of each tiny step forward.

Tony realized he hadn't sufficiently covered his response to the Spanish reference.

"I had the opportunity to transfer to Europe a few years back." He chose honesty; unconsciously encouraged by their recent progress.

"I have never heard you say that." Although aware Tony had discerned a hidden objective, Ziva maintained the ambivalent tone.

"Huh?" Selective deafness gave him time to adjust.

"I heard Director Shepard offered you a team." Addressing the matter directly, she looked at him speculatively. "So where was it, exactly?"

"Rota." Tony could speak Spanish fluently and his alveolar trill was perfect. The correct pronunciation emphasized his eminent suitability for the job. "Rota, España."

Ziva halted. "You did not tell me Tony." This time her aim was unmistakable.

McGee had mentioned the offer, refused by Tony, in passing. It had been a causal reply to her question regarding the future of their team. Ziva had displayed outward nonchalance. Inwardly she had found the revelation disturbing and that, in turn, provoked further disturbance.

Tony turned around, shrugging carelessly. "I didn't take the post."

"But you considered accepting the position?" She studied him; reclaiming the air friendly curiosity.

"Sure I did." – Resuming his path toward the chain-link gate, on their way to the control booth.

"It was a promotion. Gibbs decided to get un-retired…." Tony waited for Ziva to catch up with him before entering the security code on the keypad. "Guess I was thinking about my options."

"And you talked about it with McGee?" There was the tiniest trace of accusation in Ziva's voice.

"Yeah." Tony nodded. "No." Realizing she might misunderstand the remark and hastily adding an amendment. "It came up in conversation a while ago."

The topic had arisen in the immediate aftermath of her rejoining Mossad. Before they knew anything was seriously awry or that Ziva was missing-presumed-dead. Tony had been trying to assuage his disquiet and regrets by characterizing her decision in terms of professional change. That Ziva may have chosen resumption of active duty for the Israeli security force as a career move. He had used the example of the Spanish assignment to illustrate his point. The tactic had neither convinced McGee, nor soothed the terrible turmoil raging within Tony's mind; although the junior agent had tactfully omitted criticizing Tony's reasoning.

She stood staring at him for a few moments and a pensive, puzzled expression crossed her face. "I did not know this."

Tony frowned, trying to gauge what was causing her fixation on what was essentially ancient history. "Thought you believed working with someone didn't mean you should know _everything_ about them?"

"I did not mean in matters of significance." Surprised by Tony's point – because he had trapped her with an opinion uttered several years prior - Ziva's reply was sharper.

"Oh and having a kid isn't significant? Glad we cleared that up." The atmosphere charged slightly as Tony sarcastically mocked her rationale.

Ziva began walking slowly. "If you were thinking of leaving that would change….the perspective."

Well, you've just proved you're a woman, Zee-vah." Attempting to dissipate the antagonistic mood and amused by the rather tenuous justification.

"Not that I was ever in any doubt." Tony cocked his head; casting an appreciative, suggestive glance at Ziva's body.

The unspoken compliment didn't aid Ziva's muddle. Whenever he looked at her like that, startled confusion combined with a delighted thrill. The heady concoction battling for supremacy over Ziva's being. When he looked at E.J. like that, acute emptiness reigned unchallenged. Irrationally she linked the Rota job, the mutual attraction and Tony's attitude. This trail of unsubstantiated breadcrumbs converged in an unsettling trinity of anxiety. Ziva returned the smile hesitantly, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

"You changed your mind." - Grinning wickedly in the explanation of her capricious nature and its prerogative.

"Agent Lee was…she had not been a member of our team for very long." Tony's effort in redirecting the focus of the conversation failed. Quietly determined, Ziva pursued querying his motivations for what she perceived as withholding information.

The red light turned green with a low, throaty buzz and Tony pulled the gate open. Their footsteps echoed around the vast, soaring vault. Shadows jumped unpredictably in the savage glare of sparsely placed, industrial-strength lighting. The overlapping - yet disconnected - reflections and sounds of Tony and Ziva's movement through the building seemed to match the oddly distorted nature of their respective positions.

Tony's reasons for not having discussed his potential relocation with Ziva were perfectly legitimate. The circumstances - their relationship - were completely different at that time. Ziva's interest in the issue was of equal merit; she had discovered an unknown element in Tony's life. In the sub-station they had shied away from increasing closeness. The default into constricted friendship, E.J. and Ziva's continued connection with Ray created instability. In this instance, isolation in the midst of gloom obscured their bond. The result provoked a need for caution and distance.

Tony was becoming frustrated by her persistence. "When Jenny offered me Spain, I probably knew you as well as I did Lee when we found out about the little girl."

"I am your partner." Hurt by the conveniently simplistic summary and Tony's dismissive manner, Ziva's protest was tentative. "We had worked together for…."

"Technically I'd just got through being your boss." Annoyed and disconcerted, the interruption was harsh. "Christ, it was five and half years ago. What's the big fucking deal now?"

His comment was more than a little disingenuous. Not accepting Jenny's job was, in fact, an extremely big deal for Tony. Periodically, during the intervening years, Tony had examined his choice and wondered if it had been the correct one. He knew rejecting Rota wasn't the product of any lack in ambition with regard to his career. Tony had started in Peoria; the Mid-Western town's population was not much more than one hundred thousand. Relatively quickly he had advanced to bigger, busier cities whose criminals and their activities were more challenging and dangerous.

These promotions were attained through his skills, drive and dedication. Then Gibbs had selected Tony as his senior field agent on the MCRT in Washington D.C. - where the trajectory had stalled somewhat. He knew he wanted NCIS, wanted the premier team and wanted to be team leader once Gibbs retired.

Nevertheless, occasionally, remaining in D.C. appeared as a miscalculation. Tony considered the possibility that Jenny had played him; knowing he wouldn't transfer. All part of her obsessive agenda for La Grenouille; embroiling Tony because she needed a 'leading man' for Jeanne's seduction. The undercover mission disguised as a reward for, or acknowledgment of, his talents.

There was also the fact Rota might have supplied valuable experience; complementing his already impressive résumé. Erica Jane had triggered another round of introspection and self-doubt. Ziva's unexpected probing of the sensitivity was distinctly unwelcome.

"Apparently it is _not_ a big deal." Ziva ended her quest icily and took a seat in the cramped room.

The additional sensors were in place; now it was a waiting game. Regretting his irritable brush-off and defensive approach, Tony tried restarting the dialogue. Throughout the discourse, Ziva's 'phone had vibrated intermittently. Instead of meeting Tony halfway in compromise, she opted for texting Ray. Beleaguered withdrawal tinged the prospect of the tedious night ahead.

The conclusion of the case and end to Leona Phelps' avaricious schemes should have supplied the usual sense of satisfaction for Gibbs. It did not. His gut was predicting trouble and that trouble centered upon Special Agent Barrett. Misogyny couldn't be listed amongst his flaws; the problem wasn't the result of her being a collected, successful career woman.

An entire team had been brought stateside. One member requesting a return home would be plausible; perhaps even two at a stretch. However, the whole unit had been shipped back to headquarters which didn't make sense - even by the convoluted mechanisms of government working. Barrett seemed to have access to Vance's ear and his undivided attention. Again, professional rivalry was not the cause of his worry; the pervasive secrecy was. On his way home, Gibbs resolved initiation of some research into the newest resident of the Navy Yard.

Finally, there was the most immediate of Gibbs' concerns: the situation brewing between his senior agent and Vance's protégé. Before the descend button was pushed, he knew Tony wouldn't heed the warning. To be fair, Tony did ponder the wisdom of heading to the ladies' shower room. The mental debate lasted for all of five seconds. Celibacy was definitely not a component of his genetic inheritance. Partly he was obeying a biological imperative. Mostly he was operating out of a perversely painful void; he couldn't have the woman he wanted.

More importantly, Tony didn't fully comprehend just how much he wanted Ziva. Nor precisely why, nor what emotions fueled that desire. He was merely aware of nagging discontentment. The sense he was incomplete exacerbated every time she saw Ray or retreated from Tony. Explaining his decision on the Rota transfer was straightforward when talking with E.J.; whereas he had struggled in articulating the rationale to Ziva. Foolishly, Tony didn't analyze this discrepancy which existed because, in reality, he didn't care what E.J. thought of him. By contrast Tony did care - profoundly - about Ziva's opinion.

* * *

><p>"Did your school wear a uniform?" Ziva paused in mounting the steps to the main building.<p>

She turned, keenly surveying the impeccably manicured grounds, neatly graveled driveway and ivy-clad, neo-Gothic architecture. Newer, modern constructions were screened or tastefully designed to blend in with the historic landscape. Even the parking lot was hidden in order that nothing would spoil the vista and scholarly ambiance. They were at one of the area's most prestigious private schools, which reeked of refined wealth and privilege.

Tony, having spent his Middle and High School years in such a place, was less impressed. "Yeah."

"Like this one?" Intrigued, Ziva indicated a mixed gaggle of students walking purposefully toward their next class.

They were all dressed in identical dark green blazers, crisp white shirts, ties and charcoal grey trousers or skirts.

"Yeah." Tony laughed at the undisguised curiosity.

Ziva quickened her pace to reach the door he was holding open.

"Jackets were navy but the rest is the same." Locating the receptionist's office, Tony produced his badge. "The tie had a god awful maroon and gold stripe though." He shrugged, wincing at the memory of the venerable founder's taste in color coordination – established a century prior to Tony's attendance.

"Hi, NCIS Agents DiNozzo and David. Our colleague Special Agent McGee called this morning?" He flashed the dazzling, charming smile and made the middle-aged woman's week. "We're here to talk to Oliver Vaughn."

"Now I know how you acquired your dress code." She teased mischievously, glancing at the dark suit, sober tie and white shirt.

"Nah. I couldn't wait to ditch it." Tony shook his head. "Spent the next twelve years being scruffy."

They had wandered back into the entrance hallway. The room was spacious, elegant; all polished paneling, gleaming hardwood floors. A graduated staircase, with ornate carving on the dark wood newel posts, led to other offices. The windows were leaded glass; some of them contained stained glass depictions of shields, crests and mottos. Sunlight streaming through the colored panes cast blue, red or green beams onto surfaces. It resembled a chapel more than a lobby.

"So what changed?" Ziva's question was sincerely interested.

"I don't know. Me?" Briefly he met her gaze, casually resting against the arm of a huge leather sofa.

Ziva moved to the window, gazing out at the lawn and trees, lost in thought at his last enigmatic remark.

Then Tony's philosophical smile transformed into devilment for deflection; in the event Ziva sought clarification. "Let me guess. Yours was sand and olive green with a Desert Storm pattern and camouflage face paint?"

One of the faculty members strode into the room. "Good afternoon. May I help you?"

The gun-shot crack of his tone made Ziva jump and spin around. Tony found himself suppressing the compulsion to stand up straight and remove his hands from his pockets. And thanking god she hadn't drawn her weapon.

"No. Thank you." Ziva composedly masked the reflex. "We are waiting to interview a pupil. Oliver Vaughn?"

"Very good." The man nodded. "He should be on his way. I'll see if I can hurry him along for you."

The body of a naval reservist had been found in Rock Creek Park. The woman had been reported missing nearly a month ago which meant the discovery provided little in the way of progress. Her corpse was badly decomposed and scavenged by wildlife. There were virtually no leads and even less trace evidence. Fortunately his reservoir of knowledge meant Ducky had been able to determine stabbing wounds. However he would only guarantee his findings as the probable cause of death and cautiously estimated a 'calendar' time of death. Thus the painstaking search for park visitors during that time-frame had commenced. It had emerged a number of students had been present on the likeliest date for the murder. By a process of elimination the group's whereabouts in the park had been established and the number of promising interviewees reduced.

"Are you to waiting to see me?" A few minutes later, their potential witness appeared.

Ziva moved closer to Tony. "Oliver Vaughn?" The boy nodded. "I am Probationary Agent David and this is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

"We would like to ask you some questions?" She smiled pleasantly in suggesting he had a choice. "Would you like to sit down?"

Oliver shook his head, looking serious and focused.

"You were part of a group in Rock Creek Park on the evening of March 4th?" Tony hadn't changed his pose.

The teenager wasn't a suspect but he might be able to assist them. The trick would be to find out if he knew something, without planting anything he didn't.

"Yes Sir, the Astronomy club." The answer was traditionally respectful. "There's a planetarium at the park." Yet it was also exceedingly self-assured.

Ziva wondered if his schooling had perfected Tony's easy charm and the confidence which sometimes strayed into consummate arrogance.

"You stayed with your friends the whole time?" Ziva already knew the truth. Her inquiry was designed to confirm the other accounts.

"No, Ma'am." Oliver glanced at her. "We split up. Emily and I climbed up the ridge. That's when I saw the two men."

"Who's Emily?" Tony folded his arms, studying the reaction. This name wasn't on the list of participants.

"Emily McDermott, she came with me." Hesitating slightly, he ignored the inquisitive stares and joking gestures from a couple of his classmates who were cutting through the room. "She's a friend, Sir."

"She go to school here?" As Oliver shook his head, Tony began to construct a slight variation on the picture being painted. "Did she see the two guys?"

"No Sir. I downloaded a new app. of star charts and we were trying it out." Oliver was speaking very carefully.

"I heard something and turned around. So she was behind me...by the tree." He twisted in physical demonstration of the claim.

Ziva waited for him to face them again. "If we take you to the Navy Yard, do you think you could give a description of these men to a sketch artist?"

He seemed sensible, articulate and, in the absence of any other clues, his contribution might be crucial.

"I think so, Ma'am." Oliver nodded. "I'll have to let the school know and sign out?"

Tony stood up. "Go ahead."

As Oliver climbed the staircase, Ziva 'phoned Gibbs with an update.

Once the call was finished, Tony muttered incredulous approval. "Jesus. The Astronomy club: genius." He looked at Ziva, smirking. "Why didn't I ever think of that at seventeen? It's gotta be dark, right?"

"You do not think he is telling us the truth?" – Mildly irritated because Tony might have mentioned any doubts before the boy left on his errand.

"About the two guys? Yeah that's the truth." Realizing Ziva hadn't grasped his meaning, Tony's grin widened. "But I'm willing to bet they weren't looking at star charts."

Tony's enthusiasm for the clever cover was genuine. Hectic schedules, extracurricular activities and school work meant the young lives were short on play time. Although the group of friends had its origins in the study of the night sky, now it was generally a social gathering. With the freedoms bestowed by drivers' licenses, the venue supplied an alternative to meeting at the mall, the movie theater or various houses. Parents were comforted by the notion of harmless independence; no-one ever came home drunk or high.

Oliver rejoined them and they headed in the direction of the car.

"Had you been drinking that night?" Having deduced the real purpose of the trip up the ridge, Tony checked his witness' credibility.

"No, Sir." The reply was prompt and emphatic. "I was driving."

Crunching across the stone chips on the pathway – the lawns were strictly off-limits – Tony continued his questioning, hoping to narrow a time-frame for the death. "So 'bout what time were you showing Emily Orion's Belt?"

Ziva compressed her lips, frantically avoiding eye contact in a bid not to laugh. Tony's unsubtle innuendo was delivered with a completely straight-face.

"I'm not sure." If the couple had been consulting his smartphone, the time would have been displayed. "We were gonna leave around seven-thirty but….um…I didn't notice the time."

Ziva took pity as Oliver looked decidedly awkward. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"You're police officers?" It was obvious Oliver knew that Tony and Ziva knew the split from the rest of the party wasn't entirely innocent – and the teenagers were both residents of Virginia. Their make out session had been brought to an early end by what sounded like a fox screaming followed by two men crashing past Oliver and Emily.

"She's seventeen next month." - Adding an unsolicited, preemptive defense.

Tony grinned. "Relax, we're not those kinda cops. And, anyway, you're seventeen too so the statutory rape law doesn't apply if you're both underage."

"That's not what Emily's Dad told her." He was relieved but dubious.

Tony smiled sympathetically at parental deployment of the fear factor method for protection.

"Well, of course, he's not gonna tell her that." His regard for Oliver's intelligence slipped somewhat.

"He doesn't like you. Get used to it 'cause the fathers never do." Tony's recommendation mingled weary resignation and charming commiseration.

This time Ziva couldn't contain laughter. "You should try to impress her mother. She can be your ally."

Reaching the car, Tony unlocked the doors, glancing speculatively at Ziva. "Was that your tactic with Ray's Mom?"

"I did not have to try and impress his mother." Ziva opened her door with a gleefully triumphant smile. "She liked me."

The news Ziva had met Ray's relations had been depressing for Tony. Although she had assured McGee they were taking the relationship slowly, the visit signaled development into another stage. Moreover it hinted the future might be under consideration. The mention of a yet another get-away, this one to New York heightened his resentment.

"Does Ray know his version of Meet the Parent is gonna go down more like Interview with the Vampire?" As they neared their destination, Tony casually tried to find out Ray's latest standing in Ziva's family ties. He still hadn't told her about Eli's mysterious knowledge of her boyfriend.

"You have met my father twice and survived." Ziva's reply was a little tart.

She was unsure if Tony was teasing, if they were on the verge of another quarrel. The subjects of E.J., Ray and the unnamed complications stemming from the respective liaisons were gradually – inexorably - increasing tensions and shortening fuses.

"True. I'm just grateful he didn't issue a fucking 'kill, no capture' order for me." Tony grinned, hoping to reinforce the idea of harmless curiosity. He, too, was wary of sparking a fight.

In the observation room Tony had proffered pity for the man who dated the director's daughter. He had been struck by the grim, unyielding expression in Vance's eyes as he concurred with Tony's sentiment. Tony had never thought of Ziva's predicament as Eli David's child within that framework. Granted, her father hadn't always been in the position of absolute authority. Nevertheless, he had always been Mossad and was a fearsomely imposing character in his own right. Tony realized it was no surprise Ziva had formed relationships within the ranks so often. No regular guy would touch her. If they did, one meeting with Eli would instantly abort any honorable intentions; Dark Lord didn't even come close.

Furthermore, her perceived worth from a familial link with the seat of power meant she could be targeted for personal gain. Ziva's lovers repeatedly manipulated and exploited their prize in a depressing variety of ways; incrementally inflicting emotional damage. Ironically, Tony had found himself hoping Ray would fit her perceptions. That Ray was indeed 'a good man' whose exceptional virtues and noble profession had incurred Eli's disapproval. Naturally, should this be the case, Tony also hoped Ray would be swiftly abducted by aliens or eaten by Sasquatch.

Oliver had been absorbed by his smartphone for much of the journey. Now his voice sounded from the rear seat. "Her father wanted to kill you because you're dating?"

"No. Special Agent DiNozzo is exaggerating." Ziva firmly dispelled the notion, shaking her head with an exasperated sigh. "My father did not wish to kill him."

Tony waited for a few moments, anticipating considerable enjoyment of Ziva's error. Then he smiled, wryly offering the other - glaringly absent - denial. "And we're not dating either, Zee-vah."

"No, we are not dating." Acutely self-conscious of the inadvertent slip, Ziva snapped a completely superfluous echo.

* * *

><p>"We have a day and a guess-estimated time, courtesy of a horny adolescent male." Tony stated their newest acquisitions. "Now we just gotta figure out who went all stabby on our vic."<p>

"Who reported her missing?" E.J. hung over the 'hedge'; her interjection was at aimed Tony. "Because we had a case last year where…."

"They have been ruled out as a suspect." Ziva cut short the story with an abrasive, 'we've-already-thought-of-that' dismissal.

Raising his eyes toward the skylight, as if in supplication, Tony fervently wished one of them would surrender, or go home, or both. For the last hour, E.J. had been attempting small talk and making helpful suggestions. Ziva had rebuffed every overture.

The frequent intrusions weren't designed to be annoyances. The Rota team leader missed the camaraderie and interplay of a well-knit unit working together. Until her people arrived, she was alone in her commission. Furthermore, she was working on a case; a horrible - seemingly insoluble - protracted one. Alas, she could neither share the burden, nor confide her worries to anyone at NCIS headquarters. The Director was her only contact for the assignment; perpetually reporting no advances had become a dispiriting ritual.

Tony intervened. "Thanks for the tip though."

The sketched impression was with Abby for processing via facial recognition technology. McGee was down in the lab., supplying both technical and comforting support; a hit was a long shot. A junior agent had driven Oliver to the hospital where his mother was a surgeon. Tony and Ziva were poring over the new scraps of information in search of the elusive break. Frustration over the investigation coupled with the existing friction in the air meant tempers were fraying.

Bunching the long blonde hair with one hand, E.J. draped it all over one shoulder. "I'm calling it a day." She gathered her jacket and bag. "Later?"

"Yeah." Tony smiled at her. "Give me an hour; maybe less."

Heading toward the elevator, E.J. tossed her head. "See you tomorrow, David."

"Yes." Ziva's response was eloquent in its waspish solo.

The doors hadn't closed completely when she spat out a string of Hebrew. It was loud enough for E.J. to hear; in a tone which screamed the phrase wasn't an invocation for health and happiness.

"_That_ wasn't very nice." Tony's admonishment was a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Slightly stunned, Ziva shot him a quizzical look. "How do you know?"

"No fun in being insulted if you don't understand the language." Over the years he'd picked up a rudimentary knowledge of Hebrew; showing particular aptitude in mastering the curses.

"Why must she interfere all the time?" Recovering from her surprise, Ziva vented resentment. "She is beyond the bucket."

Tony grinned. "Pale. Not the Jack and Jill kind though." He walked over to his desk, getting ready for departure.

Their exchange confirmed Ziva's suspicions concerning E.J. and Tony. Additionally, the planned evening highlighted the fact that Tony and Ziva's socializing had come to an abrupt, jarring halt.

"It is rude…." She began another vexed tirade.

"If you just said what I think you just said, Zee-vah, you can't claim the moral high ground on good manners." It was a calm reminder that Ziva's behavior was uncalled for and bordered on unnecessary unkindness.

E.J. was his girlfriend and chivalry dictated he should defend her. However it was the end of the day, dropping the contentious topic would have been more diplomatic.

"Why don't you get off her case?" Irked by her attitude, Tony's plea held an edge of warning - signifying his patience was wearing thin.

Ziva opened her mouth and then closed it again. In all honesty, she didn't have a satisfactory answer for either Tony or herself. Superficially Ziva attributed mistrust of the lady as the knock-on effect of Gibbs' evident suspicion. However, that was an unsuitable excuse; Tony seemed impervious to their boss' disapproval. Internally, Ziva's insecurity was a totally different entity. She was experiencing the same inner conflict which had plagued Tony since Ray became a fixture.

Tony was removed from the source which lessened its immediate impact. He knew next to nothing about Ray; not even what he looked like. Unfortunately, Ziva was confronted by her nemesis on a regular basis; this proximity magnified the distress. A similar sense of loss and unease stalked her thoughts in an intangible mist of unknowing. It was bewildering because she was in a steady, promising relationship. The hollow feeling first identified on the carrier should be banished. Yet Ziva was miserable.

He seized her hesitation. "Half the time she's not even around for Christ's sake."

This was true. E.J.'s presence in the bull-pen had been punctuated by several periods away on unspecified business. Since no explanations were forthcoming, the general assumption revolved around practical preparations for the rest of her personnel.

"No, she is not." The curt agreement denoted Ziva was ignoring Tony's hint.

She was standing in the aisle which ran down the center, between the desks. Tony moved closer, en route to the exit.

Perplexed and unhappy, Ziva sought refuge from the agitation in unfair complaint.

"And when she is, she is always arranging things. Her desk, her shower, her team…" A spiteful stress accompanied the declaration of each item on the list.

She was being unreasonable and Tony's tolerance had exceeded its limits. "Jealous much?" His interruption was deliberately nasty.

"No Tony, why would I be jealous?" Ziva's smile was laced with frosty disdain. "I have a boyfriend."

He cocked his head, smiling sardonically. "I meant 'cause she's got full rank. She's a team leader assigned to an overseas base."

Tony chewed his cheek, scrutinizing Ziva's reaction.

"But you're right, you _do_ have a boyfriend." His voice was extremely quiet but the tone was scathingly angry. "So what the fuck is your problem here?"

In terms of sheer ferocity, her response was likely to exceed his attack by quite some margin. Tony escaped via taking the stairs; lest waiting for the elevator tripped ignition of Ziva's temper and instigated the second wave. Notably, she made no attempt to follow him. Ziva simply lingered in the middle of the room, watching him go – tired and heartsore.

* * *

><p>Desperate times call for desperate measures. And, as far as desperation goes, Tony conceded spending most nights in the company of a lovely blonde was a remarkably pleasant manifestation of despair.<p>

"David doesn't like me." Tony was stretched out on her sofa and E.J. perched on the edge, alongside him.

Tony grimaced. "I wouldn't say that, exactly." Tony strove for conviction despite _that_ being exactly what he would say. "Zee-vah just takes a little while to warm up to…outsiders."

He wasn't lying per se; Ziva was reserved in her approach to strangers. Furthermore her cool rationality and demeanor often were mistaken for plain unfriendliness. There was no doubt Ziva could be brutally candid and forthright in dealing with people. Nevertheless it was usually grounded in dispassionate logic and impartiality. Tony was learning that E.J. was direct only when dispensing criticism.

"What's she like to work with?" She reached for a glass on the side table. "Is it true what they say about her?"

"Which parts?" Now Tony was distinctly uncomfortable.

He didn't want to think about Ziva whilst he was with E.J.; especially not after their argument which had left him feeling disconsolate.

"That she's heartless and temperamental." She took a sip of wine and smiled. "Difficult, I think is the polite word."

He became conscious that he was being interrogated. Given Ziva's behavior, E.J. could be forgiven for harboring ill-will and Tony was surprised by her lack of rancor. There was little point in refuting the allegations since they were sort of true; all except for the first one. If he said she wasn't difficult or temperamental it would be only because Tony found Ziva's idiosyncrasies enchanting rather than annoying. Tony definitely didn't want E.J. excavating that area of his psyche.

Fortunately she didn't push for his opinion. "And then there's all the assassin stuff…." E.J. rolled her eyes in disbelief. "…which can't be true."

"Oh it's definitely true." Tony decided he should say something; nothing might appear just as damning. "Zee-vah's the real deal."

The interview wasn't for inherently wicked purposes. She was a professional; it was a thorough assessment of her new surroundings and co-workers. The review included personality types, strengths and weaknesses. The scientists and facilities were excellent. From her perspective, Gibbs was unreliable because of an outdated stance. McGee was dependable but lacked assertiveness and Tony was rapidly becoming highly important. E.J. was unable to make sense of Ziva; seeking Tony's input was a sensible course of action.

"Really? That's surprising." She emptied her glass and returned it to the table.

"The rumor in Rota was she screwed up here, screwed up for Mossad who had to dump her…" Tony suddenly sat upright. The action broke her line of thought and speech. "….Your team had to save her, pull her out so the Med. carrier group could clean up the mess. She's lucky she has a job."

"She didn't screw up a single fucking thing." He glanced off E. J.'s look, staring into the room; the relaxed, easy attitude had vanished.

"And she saved herself 'cause she stayed alive." The testament was full of understated admiration and affection.

Tony's altered manner - his almost aggressive protection of Ziva's reputation - produced a moment of awkward silence.

"How'd you know all this anyway?" Tony frowned. Some details of Ziva's rescue were common knowledge and some were still interred in the tomb of classified data.

"I don't _know_ it." E.J. shrugged disinterestedly. "It's gossip. People always invent filler for telling a good story."

"Hmn." He was perturbed. For unfounded speculation, her account was uncannily accurate in the operational specifics. It contained more truth than wild theorizing.

Tony's unexpected tension dissipated slightly and she shifted her position, facing him. "Have you ever slept with her?"

"No. Never." He shook his head as if two spoken negatives weren't sufficiently potent. Tony's definition of sleeping with a woman didn't encompass faking sex or sharing a bed.

"What makes you ask? More gossip?" Light-hearted teasing colored the comment. He was reclined on the sofa again and the mood had returned its earlier incarnation.

E.J. had two reasons for the inquiry. Gibbs' rule notwithstanding, she wondered if Tony's reluctance at engaging in their relationship was fall-out from a previous experience. Perhaps a traumatic break-up or ill-judged one night stand had precipitated his caution. Ziva was the likeliest candidate for that scenario.

"No." Playfully rejecting the accusation, she leant into him. "But look at us, and we're not on the same team."

Also, E.J. was establishing if the Israeli would be an on-going thorn. An old-flame could bring possible enmity, generated by jealousy, if the end had been ugly. Conversely, Tony might be right about Ziva's character. In which case the chances were good that she would mellow and cooperate with E.J. She had observed Tony and Ziva's partnership. In her estimation, the dynamic surrounding the couple was peculiar.

"You're afraid of her." A recurring theme; when E. J. couldn't comprehend Tony's process she labeled the thinking as fear.

"Zee-vah?" Tony laughed outright and she was left in no doubt he viewed the notion as ridiculous. Then he grinned good-naturedly. "Is there anyone I'm _not_ afraid of, E.J.?"

"Me." Cuddling closer, she gave up on background digging. "Are you staying tonight?"

"Uh-uh. Early start tomorrow and Gibbs is pissed at me as it is." He wrapped his arms around her as if making amends for sleeping at his apartment.

"I'm very persuasive." E. J. was disappointed.

"By all means, please, go right ahead and persuade." Smiling he kissed her neck and reiterated his intention. "But the answer is still no."

Driving home, Tony weighed the merits of showing up at Ziva's place. He had hurt her and the knowledge preyed on his conscience. He was prevented by the bitter realization that if she were upset, she would depend on Ray for comfort. Ziva tossed restlessly in bed, wrestling guilt at wounding Tony. Fleetingly, she debated calling him; regretfully abandoning the idea because she knew he was with E.J.

The mistakes were compounding and the glass seemed more opaque than ever. Despite both being gifted investigators, Tony and Ziva failed singularly at detection whenever the conundrum involved their relationship. Having settled on friendship, currently they were inverting the equation and fostering animosity. The ill-fated Ides of March had lived up to their fame and ushered in trouble. However, these difficulties couldn't hold a candle to the strife April had in store.

* * *

><p><strong>Many thanks for the reviews – they are always appreciated. Please post a comment if you have the time; making sense or not, likes and dislikes.<strong>

**Thanks also for the alerts. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	10. A Bitter Thing

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.**

**Chapter ten: are you bored yet? The Ray-Jay warning still applies! **

**I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to cancisfan. She's putting a lot of patient time, effort and kindness into helping me clean up my grotty punctuation and stuff.**

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>But, O! how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes."<em>

_William Shakespeare_

**April 2011**

First impressions count. Tony's very first impression of Ray Cruz was, clearly, the man had to be an idiot. She didn't like surprises. She didn't like being told someone was in one location, only to find out they were somewhere completely different. Most importantly, she didn't like her private life being publicly displayed without her consent. No matter how well-intentioned, Ray's unannounced appearance at Ziva's office was a thoughtless and selfish act.

Initially Tony observed their tête-à-tête with silent interest, until Ray's correction of Ziva's English proved too galling and he interrupted. The neutral demand for introductions was entirely unnecessary; there could be no doubt as to the identity of her unnamed visitor. Ziva was slightly flustered; marshaling a mix of conflicted reactions and conscious she was - suddenly - the focus of much curiosity. As the couple walked further into the squad room, Gibbs moved closer. Ziva presented her boss and Ray responded with an outstretched hand, his voice carefully deferential. The blue eyes surveyed Ray, but the only acknowledgement was a noncommittal nod which accompanied the handshake. Friendliness was McGee's natural condition. Moreover, he and Ziva enjoyed the same sibling-like relationship which existed between McGee and Tony. He was genuinely pleased to meet her boyfriend and his open, warm greeting was indicative this sentiment.

Tony was last and he used the interval to scrutinize his rival. He was childishly pleased he was an inch taller: decidedly less so at the conclusion Ray was probably a year or two younger.

"Tony DiNozzo…" Ziva's smile held an uncertain appeal for good behavior.

He glanced at her, amused by the nerves. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo." Holding out his hand, he looked Ray squarely in the eye.

Tony made his introduction formal by including the title she had dropped; serious and charming. "It's a pleasure Ray."

"Special Agent; heard good things." Ray was equally agreeable.

"Yeah, likewise." Tony's gaze returned to Ziva. "Any friend of Zee-vah's is a friend of ours."

He stared at Ray for a minute, before reverting to Ziva with a teasing grin. "Of course the last time she had an out of town visitor, our director ended up in the hospital."

Gibbs watched the exchange. The former Marine wasn't an anthropologist; he didn't need to be one in order to recognize the atavistic scenario playing out in front of him. It was one which had been performed thousands of years ago in some primitive settlement; two men facing off for the privilege of hauling Ziva back to their cave. The weapons were not honed stone knives or crude clubs; they were savagely polite conversation and sharply pleasant smiles. Clothing standards were more sophisticated too. The attitudes and motivations were carbon copies of their prehistoric counterparts, nonetheless.

Ray hadn't taken his eyes off Tony.

"Well, I come in peace, promise." Smiling in easy self-deprecation, he carried on in an approving tone. "And, despite the injuries your director sustained, the Agency thinks that you navigated that situation very well."

"You CIA?" Gibbs was gruffly direct: interrogation room style.

Ray answered with a respectful, though assured, affirmative. And a one thousand megawatt light bulb exploded inside Tony's brain.

If there had been a discomfort meter situated in the bull-pen, the needle would already be hovering on the line separating the yellow zone from the orange: between uncomfortable and extremely awkward. When Ziva's boyfriend confirmed his status as long-time, active duty CIA, the indicator would have skipped orange completely, scorched through red – the excruciatingly unpleasant range - and kept going. Whereupon the glass would have shattered and the hair-spring sensor snapped, rendering the device useless.

Gibbs impassively absorbed the information. McGee's amiable smile was smothered by worried wrinkles.

"Funny, Zee-vah failed to mention your line of work." This time Tony's eyes darkened, tinted by displeasure, and sarcasm was evident in his comment.

Her eyes slipped down, away, in embarrassment.

"It's what I do, not who I am." Ray brushed off the idea his profession was either relevant or should be a problem.

Ray's defense of Ziva from the implied criticism irritated Tony further, and he took a few paces forward.

"That's a very Zen, New-Agey kinda attitude for someone who installs puppet regimes for a living." Tony adopted antagonistic arrogance in mocking the trite statement.

Tony and Ray stared each other down, and a more overt struggle for ascendancy pervaded the air. Ziva, who was extremely ill-at-ease, intervened with a request to show Ray around the Navy Yard. Distinctly unhappy, Tony watched them leave.

The bodies from the Coast Guard had come from the Gulf – through Florida. Undoubtedly the CIA would also have the PRF covered by surveillance and had made the link. Ray hadn't been coming to see Ziva in November; he had been coming to see Eli David. Tony couldn't ascertain whether the meeting would have been by contrivance or appointment. Nevertheless, he sensed it must have been the purpose behind the CIA agent's hastily arranged visit, and it's equally abrupt cancellation once Eli's plans had altered.

Currently, Tony had no idea whose name should be granted the highest echelon in the pantheon of sons-of-bitches. On one side, his discussion with Ziva's father had suggested subtle warning in regard to CI-Ray. This, in combination with Tony's epiphany over the Thanksgiving trip, should count in Eli's favor: against Ray. Conversely, Tony was absolutely certain Eli was deserving of significantly less trust than one would afford an angry cobra. It would be exceedingly dangerous to lose sight of that undeniable truth.

Worst of all, Tony hadn't discussed the topic of Ray and Eli David with Ziva. There was one bright spot; Tony had a face, a full name and a fragment of background upon which to work.

* * *

><p>They say trouble comes in threes. It wasn't even lunch-time, yet the cosmic sadist who oversees these occurrences had dispensed a stunningly complete treble. The MCRT were investigating an apparent serial killing, Ziva's boyfriend was in town and he worked for the CIA; a full audit by the IRS would have been more welcome. By early afternoon, the cycle of triple woes extended into a rollover. Not only did the case definitely involve a serial murderer; EJ was the lead investigator in those crimes.<p>

She had swanned into the latest victim's apartment, aggravating Gibbs and surprising Tony. Now he was in unequivocal violation of Rule #12. Originally, Tony cloaked his misgivings beneath the dubious exemption of 'sort-of-but-not-exactly-co-workers.' He and E.J. were on different teams, would work different cases; there could be no conflict of interests. That technicality had been obliterated and Gibbs' stark disapproval of the liaison was becoming obvious.

The most unpalatable component to the latest round of misery was Ray's pronouncement of love for Ziva. By the time Ray had turned to throw the balled up towel into the trash can, Tony's demeanor had transposed from civil interest to 'Oh Christ, I'm screwed' and back again. Tony clung desperately to the notion his discomfort was purely rational; that it stemmed from what he knew, or thought he knew, or might possibly know, about CI-Ray. In reality, the visceral, sickening lurch which assaulted him when Ray declared he would tell Ziva 'soon,' had little connection to the man's career.

The bathroom door was flung open and Ziva half-turned. The metallic twang as it bounced off the spring baseboard protector, and the hard slap of a hand against painted wood - preventing the full rebound - catching her attention.

"Seriously?" Tony strode into the ladies' restroom. "The Company?"

She had been avoiding Tony - and this conversation - all day. His severe tone and resolute expression made Ziva wish her evasion strategy had been more successful. The dry click of a lock sliding back cracked the ominous pause. A figure sheepishly emerged from one of the stalls and walked to the hand basins.

"Hey Melissa, how's it going?" With almost comic aplomb, he switched into conversational banter.

"Good, thanks Tony." The tall willowy brunette washed and dried her hands. Conscious their discussion was on hold for her benefit, she rummaged for lipstick. "How are you?"

Whilst she reapplied make-up and fixed her hair, the young woman stealthily surveyed their reflections in the mirror.

Offices, hospitals, shops and all places of work have these nooks: roof-tops, fire escapes, even storage closets. Spaces which act as ad hoc conference rooms and supply notional privacy: for grousing, plotting, settling disputes or advancing courtships. Tony and Ziva's inclination toward conducting such interludes in the bathrooms provoked a wide variety of, sometimes lurid, speculation amongst the staff.

Tony was staring fixedly at Ziva. "Juust peachy."

Melissa regretted the timing of her scheduled break; a few minutes later and she could have witnessed the inaugural fusillade. Contemplating an exit and re-entry maneuver, she finished the review of her appearance and moved from the vanity. Tony was resting his arm on top of the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser.

"You forgot your purse." Tony straightened; retrieving the offending accessory and handing it to Melissa. Despite his pleasant smile, it was an unspoken instruction to leave - now.

"Oh so I did…thanks….right….um…" Grasping for a suitable farewell, she opened the door. "….Have a good one, guys."

Outside, Melissa rolled her eyes at the inane phrase; whatever the pair were going to have, it seemed highly improbable the encounter would be good.

"Well?" Tony shed the affability the second after the door closed.

Ziva walked away from him, establishing SCIF status via the more old-fashioned, manual method.

"Well what?" A feeble attempt at delay; the style of Tony's entrance and initial remark announced his mood as efficiently as if he had used a bullhorn.

She had agonized over Ray's employers and persuaded herself that concealing his occupation was a compulsory evil; one shouldn't advertise that sort of information. Deep down, Ziva knew it was a thin excuse because her teammates wouldn't breach confidentiality and jeopardize Ray's cover. The fiction of obligation comfortingly disguised the real reason; dating a CIA operative would bring unbridled joy from neither Gibbs nor Tony.

"Don't get cute, Zee-vah." Tony snapped an annoyed, sharp rebuke. "You know _exactly_ what I mean."

Privacy secured, she faced him. "Yes, Tony, Ray is CIA."

Ziva's reply denoted philosophical surrender; at this juncture a clash over the subject was inevitable. "It is not important and you are over-reacting."

The MCRT had an adversarial history with the outfit which heightened the ordinary inter-agency frictions and rivalries. This element comprised a negligible portion of Ziva's reticence. Much of her anxiety flowed in anticipation of Tony's reaction; he was wary of the association from the outset. And, because this attitude had deteriorated markedly once Ray transformed from friend into boyfriend, Ziva baulked at kicking the hornets' nest. Additionally, their disagreements these days were restricted to minor squabbling and run-of-the-mill bickering - as opposed to bruising schism. Finally, when she was with Tony - especially during their so-totally-not-romantic-romantic socializing - Ray seemed to fade into the scenery. Ziva wasn't inclined to spoil the affectionate fun and intimacy by dragging a contentious topic into the spotlight.

"If it's not important: why the need to keep it a secret?" Tony's inquiry was justified; its accusatory delivery was not.

When Tony glimpsed Ziva's destination, he had briefly considered not following her into the bathroom. His tolerance threshold had been eroded by the day's revelations; he should cool down before confronting Ziva.

"I did not keep it a secret." She bristled; the implication of deliberate deceit pricking an already raw nerve. "What he does for a living is not relevant. He is my boyfriend and it…."

His scornful retort was neither justified nor pertinent. "Oh but selling his finer qualities _is_ relevant?"

"I have not needed to _sell_ anything about Ray." Ziva latched onto Tony's spurious sideswipe. Portraying a boyfriend as scummy bastard material would be an unlikely strategy for anyone, regardless of their business.

Ziva utilized his own insatiable curiosity for a weapon. "You asked me and I told you about him."

Tony threw out his hands and laughed sardonically. "Yet somewhere between listing the fucking 'Downhill Racer' and 'Iron Chef' impressions…." Biting sarcasm filled his voice. "….you neglected Ray's membership in the Other Government Agency."

Ziva ignored both the mocking allusion to her descriptions of Ray and the derisory euphemism for the CIA.

"Why should his job be such an issue?" Tony scowled; incredulous she had asked. "Not all CIA personnel are Trent Kort, Tony." There was a hint of self-satisfied victory in the remark.

Tony nursed a grudge against the shady, treacherous Kort; the ferocity and longevity of which would make Michael Corleone proud. Ziva was extremely cognizant this fact and the cause.

Ziva pressed home her advantage. "Just because they work for the same organization, does not mean he is like Kort, or even knows him."

Her Mossad training meant Ziva didn't ask Ray for details of activities or colleagues. She accepted the information he did supply unquestioningly; trusting he would tell her anything she could or should know. Unable to attest – categorically – Ray and Trent Kort didn't work together, Ziva presented her rationale along nonspecific lines.

Momentarily placed on the defensive, Tony cocked his head and adapted the contours of his objection. "But CI-Ray knew all about us, didn't he?"

"He….only what I have told him…." This was a much trickier matter and Ziva's indecision showed in her disjointed response.

"You're kidding, right?" Tony didn't allow time for greater thought.

"And, by the way, what _have_ you told him?" The interruption was steeped in caustic disbelief; he was still stinging from Ray's labeling of him as a fraternal factor in Ziva's life.

"What was with the Agency pat on the back bullshit?" He trapped her between the dividing wall and sink unit, stepping nearer as he fired off curt questions. "You get to grade us for them or something?"

"Ray was being…It was a compliment…an official courtesy." Ziva was struggling for an adequate shield under the relentless barrage.

Tony's complaint was valid. The patronizing assessment of NCIS' involvement in the Al-Masri affair had bordered on offensive. Furthermore, Ray's knowledge was unexpected and peculiar; previously, he had never indicated official familiarity with the events.

She looked up at him, taking refuge in Tony's evident prejudice. "You are merely inventing reasons to dislike Ray."

"Trust me, it's not that hard." Tony was grimly resigned.

He studied her for a few seconds, holding Ziva's gaze. There were shadows in her eyes; the fine haze whose appearance he had noticed at the crime scene. Ray's ill-conceived arrival and his CIA identity had served to increase the pressure. Tony suddenly felt churlish - curiously dishonorable - in the attack on Ziva.

His manner softened and he turned away, freeing her path. "Anyway, I thought you were done with the roaming field agent types?"

A perplexed frown creased Ziva's forehead at the shift, because Tony's quasi-reproach was strangely upsetting. As if she had disappointed him somehow; reneged on an undertaking. Yet the vague criticism rankled - especially in light of his choice of girlfriend. Apparently, if the coworker was sufficiently desirable, blatant contravention of Rule #12 was an eminently worthwhile risk. The strands of thought were irreconcilable and puzzling.

At that precise minute, Ziva had two options: peace or hostility.

"I thought you had learned your lesson when it came to mixing personal and professional lives, Tony." Walking toward the door, Ziva rejected conciliation with a jab aimed at Tony's past.

The icy effectiveness of her departure was marred once she was standing outside; she really had needed to pee. Ziva decided on a dignified diversion to the restroom situated on the upper level, rather than loitering nearby for Tony's exit.

* * *

><p>"I'm still waiting." Ray crooned as Ziva came into the bull-pen.<p>

She stopped and smiled apologetically. "I know, but your patience will be rewarded." Ziva leaned closer for a moment, and then brandished a folder. "I have to make copies and then I am all yours."

Tony was reclined in his chair, feet up on the desk, reading a file. The relaxed pose and concentration were projecting the complete opposite of his internal state. He nearly offered to complete the task for Ziva. Not out of helpfulness; simply as method to eject Ray from Tony's immediate vicinity. When Ziva announced she would not be able to leave for several hours, Ray had suggested dinner at the Navy Yard. He had shown up, carrying a take-out bag emblazoned with the emblem of one of D.C.'s finer restaurants.

For the past twenty minutes Ray had been hanging around the squad room like a bad smell, engaging Tony in genial conversation. The only obstacle being that Tony steadfastly refused to be engaged. McGee had bailed roughly ten minutes into the exchange; unnerved by the brooding impasse and convinced the orange walls were oozing a fine sheen of testosterone-infused condensation. His friend's absconding during such a crisis was a betrayal for which Tony had mentally vowed vengeance.

Ray glanced over his shoulder, watching as Ziva disappeared from his view. "Is Ziva alright?" His gaze switched back to Tony.

Tony didn't look up from his paperwork. "Think so."

He hadn't fallen for Ray's bathroom 'let's be buddies' act; the entire discussion had been a carefully orchestrated exercise in territoriality. Ray had firmly stamped his claim on Ziva and assigned Tony's role inside the restrictive sphere of friendship. Informing Tony that she thought of him as a brother was a particularly deft touch. Tony was absolutely certain it wasn't healthy to wonder about one's sister the way he sometimes wondered about Ziva. He was equally certain Ziva wouldn't collaborate in their customary flirtatious, slightly risqué, banter with a brother. Nevertheless, the motive behind Ray's depiction was as unmistakable as if he had branded an 'R' on her butt. Ray had been marking Ziva; she belonged to him - not Tony.

"She seems worried…tense." Ray perched against the short end of McGee's desk. "You really haven't noticed anything wrong?"

Ray provoked Tony into supplying an opinion by suggesting lack of perception. Ziva was tense. Tony knew she was tense. And Ray knew Tony knew she was tense. Additionally, Ray surmised Tony had more insight into the source of her tension. If Tony declined to reply or pretended nothing was amiss, it might appear he knew less about Ziva than Ray. Or it might appear he cared less about her welfare than Ray. The astute tactic was designed with the sole purpose of activating Tony's competitive ego.

"It's this case." Again Tony didn't look up, retaining the air of indifference. "She doesn't like serial killers."

Ray snorted dismissively. "She isn't bothered by death. Ziva's killed countless times."

"Yeah, and I've seen her do it too." Although Tony's eyes remained focused on the notes, there was an acerbic edge to his tone; payback for the brother remark.

Ray might want to appoint limits for Tony's relationship with Ziva, however they had been partners for nearly six years. Ray had been involved with her for less than twelve months. The natural result of so many shared experiences meant Tony had participated in aspects of Ziva's existence which would be inaccessible to her boyfriend. Tony was more than willing to highlight that reality.

"But OK, we'll say you're right." Faint sarcasm laced his passive-aggressive surrender.

"Sorry Tony." Ray's concession was swift. "Of course you know her…professionally." Although he couldn't resist the barbed tack which underlined Tony's ordained place in Ziva's affections.

Tony sat forward, reached for a pen and then leaned back. Maintaining the attitude of polite detachment, he appeared totally absorbed in his research. Ray assumed Tony would receive the peace offering and then elaborate on Ziva's mood. When he didn't, an oddly pregnant pause strained the silence which was punctuated by Tony monotonously clicking the pen's release and retract mechanism.

Realizing Tony wouldn't cooperate without further prompting, Ray tried again. "Did she tell you why _this_ case?"

"She didn't tell me anything." A trace of conceit crept into his voice and he still hadn't bothered looking at Ray. "Zee-vah doesn't like serial killers."

Tony reiterated his assertion whilst jotting a couple of names and numbers on a yellow sticky. "Selecting a vic., hunting them, the rituals…all that stuff."

Sitting upright, he picked up the 'phone and began dialing. "It weirds her out."

"Ziva was Mossad, an assassin….I don't follow..." Ray's baffled commentary was genuine.

That Ziva would be perturbed by serial killers and their crimes hadn't occurred to him. "Why would these types of killings upset her?"

Ray was extremely peeved at the fluent ease Tony displayed in translating her disquiet. Tony wasn't proposing a plausible theory; he was outlining an edict with absolute conviction. Furthermore, Ray experienced a flash of jealous pique; an intangible feeling he was comprehensively outclassed and outgunned by Tony.

As time passed, Ray had grown heartily sick of Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Not because of what Ziva said, but because of what she didn't say and how she didn't say it. She often spoke animatedly and with profound fondness about her NCIS family. Ray was well acquainted with each member's strengths, flaws and foibles; except for Tony. Ziva rarely mentioned him. On the occasions his name did crop up, there was a singular, fascinating quality to her voice and features which manifested for no-one else.

Tony canceled the call, sighing in exasperation. Clearly, the man couldn't take a hint and his persistence was inflaming Tony's on-going irritation at his presence. More aggravating was the recognition CI-Ray and ex-Mossad Ziva would have a great deal in common as individuals.

"She doesn't get off on it." He shot a speculative glance at Ray, biting his lower lip. "It's her job, they're orders. And Zee-vah's very, very good…" A grin flashed and fond admiration tinged his words before vanishing.

"But she can't understand someone who does it for kicks…." Tony tailed off.

He had no intention of explaining the principle that Ziva was frightened by what didn't make sense. Ray was her boyfriend; if he was incapable of figuring Ziva out for himself, Tony decided he didn't deserve the heads up.

Ray nodded; folding his arms and listening attentively.

"Plus 'bout three years ago, she was undercover with a fucking nut-job…." Tony shook his head, his expression hardening with the memory. "It was kinda close."

The analysis was exceedingly accurate; it was also rather incomplete. Once the MCRT became aware they were tracking a serial killer, Tony had instinctively sensed Ziva's apprehension. He suspected Ziva's distaste for these cases was magnified by her captivity. Held at the mercy of people for whom inflicting pain, fear and suffering furnished an extra fillip. Certainly she was valuable; for intelligence and her potential as a commodity for barter. That worth notwithstanding, there was a reason they were called terrorists; it was their goal, their raison d'être. The need for control and power fed their activities and Ziva had endured unfettered indulgence of the penchant. Fall-out from the ordeal undeniably exacerbated her vulnerability for this investigation.

"Ziva has faced many close calls." Unconvinced, Ray objected again.

Tony leaned back in his chair again, scrutinizing Ray's reaction. Judging by the interest, Ray was learning something new; something which he didn't quite grasp. Although the idea was exceptionally tempting, Tony refrained from mentioning Ray's abrupt entry had provided neither comfort nor support for Ziva. Solely because Tony knew her stress level had increased dramatically after their argument in the bathroom. Niggling remorse and guilt lurked; Tony's behavior had caused the most distress to Ziva. He definitely wasn't about to tell Ray that Ziva was upset because they had fought; especially since they had been fighting about Ray.

"Serial killers don't make sense to her." Tony shrugged and proceeded to make his 'phone call; a pointed method for terminating the free advice session.

As Tony's call ended, Ziva returned from the copy room. "Now I am ready." She spotted the bag beside the desk, smiling brightly. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes it is." Ray confirmed the contents, smoothly conveying devotion. "I made a special trip, just for you."

Ziva glanced at Tony uncertainly, noting the receiver in his hand. "Progress?"

Cautiously, Tony met her eyes. "Nope."

For an instant, transient communication occurred. A complicated transmission achieved with a single look containing diffident regret, appeals for truce and an unspoken 'Are we OK?' A millisecond saturated with the yearning quest for interdependent reassurance; 'Do we - whatever _we_ are – still exist unscathed?'

As Tony and Ziva fleetingly made eye contact, Ray felt as if he had been sucked into a bizarre invisibility bubble. The sensation grated enormously and he popped the membrane before answers were composed and received.

"Ziva, let's go." Ray tapped her shoulder and reclaimed possession. "I haven't seen you since this morning."

Alone in the bull-pen, Tony released the grimace which he had repressed when Ray pronounced his nobility in obtaining the food. He was simultaneously amazed and alarmed by the exchange: that the man who professed to love her, could understand so little about his Ninja. Obviously, Tony's comprehension of String Theory was more extensive than Ray's knowledge of Ziva.

* * *

><p>"You're very quiet tonight?" Ray's soft comment broke into Ziva's reverie.<p>

Ziva was propped up on pillows. Ray was sitting at the foot of her bed, reviewing non-sensitive emails and documents on his laptop.

She waved her book at him, deflecting. "This is a wonderful story."

"But you haven't turned a page in ten minutes." One didn't advance in the CIA without a knack for observation and Ray had been an agent for thirteen years. "What's wrong, Ziva?"

"Nothing is wrong." Ziva gave a wan smile, acknowledging she had been caught.

Over their meal, Ray had chided her for talking shop; vexed Ziva had fielded a work-related text which drew her attention away from him. She was reluctant to raise the issue when they were supposedly relaxing and winding down together. Yet Ray's questioning stare at her denial was sincere; an invitation to open up about her concerns.

"The P2P investigation; there are too many outside factors creating trouble." Ziva articulated her abstraction hesitantly. "Gibbs does not trust E.J but it is her case and she is….not helping."

Ruefully, she shook her head. "Even Abby is unhappy and Abby is _never_ unhappy."

"It's a complex situation." Ray logged out of the system. "And these crimes are always difficult burdens."

"Someone who kills for pleasure…." He closed the lid, reaching out and placing the computer on the dresser. "….because they can." Ray watched Ziva's demeanor carefully, noting her slight nod.

"It's madness, incomprehensible to us." Another facet of his skill set for the CIA - manipulation.

Ray was far too smart to quote Tony verbatim. However, he had no compunction when it came to using the insight gleaned from his conversation with Ziva's partner. Ray shamelessly employed the intelligence gathered in order to gain dominance over Ziva's state of mind; a field operative's textbook strategy. Tony's dispassionate answers indicated his stance; serial killers came with the job description. They were merely all part and parcel of the assorted miscreants whom he had pursued in his career, and Ray presumed this tenet would color Tony's handling of Ziva's anxieties. Ray tailored his response to Ziva's mindset. By including himself in the 'utterly-confounded-club', Ray was seeking to cement empathy and trump Tony's seemingly aloof approach.

"Yes." A grateful, spontaneous smile graced Ziva's features; he understood. For once she didn't have to attempt an explanation of worries or concerns.

The realization Ray had tuned into her wavelength was surprising and pleasing. His inability to appreciate her meaning on numerous subjects was disappointing. Not intrinsically adept in matters of feelings, Ziva found frequent qualification for her perspective tiresome and frustrating. They didn't fight; that is they didn't fight like she and Tony quarreled. Ray and Ziva either agreed or disagreed. On the latter occasions, if the dispute revolved around personal experiences and insecurities, Ziva usually capitulated. She would withdraw from any effort to enlighten him. And, significantly, Ray's failing in this area acted as a secretly cherished veil. One which Ziva subconsciously cultivated and the long-distance nature of the relationship aided the barrier. She could preserve a measure of anonymity - not relinquish her entire self. Yet Ziva was acutely aware a thriving partnership should involved unreserved commitment.

"He is clever, this one." Encouraged, Ziva continued. "Four murders, on four continents, and we know nothing about him."

Ray stood up and stretched. "The Port-to-Port case will be resolved."

Ziva sighed. "At present, it is hard to see how. We…."

He moved around the bed, sitting beside her.

"Eventually he'll make a mistake and be neutralized." Ray's soothing interjection was also a signal the discussion was finished.

"And perhaps you won't need to worry about these maniacs for much longer, mmn?" He smiled, placing one hand either side of Ziva.

"Why not?" Ziva laughed an inquiry as Ray began kissing her shoulder. "This is not the first such killer for our team and it will not be the last."

"Perhaps you won't always be on the MCRT?" Ray hooked one finger under a strap of her cami pajama top, sliding it down. "You could want a change."

"I believe I have had sufficient changes in my career." Nestling into the pillows, Ziva drily discounted the concept.

Within the past six years, she had morphed from Mossad control officer to Mossad liaison attached to NCIS; through Kedon unit combatant to NCIS apprentice. She didn't want more upheaval.

"And, despite these cases, I like the my team." Ziva remonstrated playfully.

"Some might think crime-solving for the Navy police is a waste of your extraordinary talents." Ray's lips spread along her throat and he lowered the other strap. "I've made inquiries at the Agency; if there are any openings for analysts or support staff."

Ziva stopped his hand, pushing him away slightly. "I have never asked you to do that for me."

She was frowning; he didn't understand. Ziva was immensely proud of her achievements and the organization to which she belonged. After the debacle of Somalia she had healed, in part, by pouring her energies into a fresh, positive beginning. Tenaciously Ziva rebuilt her life, her career and relationships as an emphatic validation of survival. She saw proving her worth fitting repayment for the team's faith and sacrifice on her behalf. The discovery that Ray considered NCIS beneath Ziva - unsuitable in some way - was disturbing.

Ray was pondering whether this would be an opportune moment to tell Ziva he loved her. For the second time tonight, he shelved the plan. He read the adjustment in Ziva's mood correctly, despite wrongly identifying the trigger.

"You wouldn't be a probie." He shrugged, ignoring the disapproval and smiling a light appeal. "And Gibbs' rules don't apply at the CIA, _we_ could be co-workers."

"I will be promoted to Special Agent…" The disparaging reference to her lowly rank irked Ziva and she launched into protest.

"It's only something for consideration; a possibility." Ray cut her off; backtracking with the suggestion he was harmlessly proffering alternatives.

At times, he showed a distinct tendency toward dictating her options and directing her wishes. Ziva ascribed altruism to this defect; on the whole Ray was kind, loving and attentive. Blurred against the unthinking thrill which envelops a new romance, imperfections can pass unnoticed. However, familiarity can breed sensibilities other than contempt. What were once minor blemishes were gradually mutating into major faults, and these accrued each time she contemplated her future.

"There's no rush for our decision." He climbed onto the bed fully, nuzzling her ear. "But it's a good choice"

Ray's final statement denoted arguing the point was futile; he was trying to railroad the outcome. She abandoned the debate, closing her eyes and feigning investment in Ray's kisses. That behavior in and of itself was an unwelcome development. Ray was a competent lover; albeit in a restrained, somewhat staid fashion. Nevertheless, Ziva recognized her mind shouldn't wander during sex nearly as much as it did.

The physical injection of Ray into the mix combined with E.J.'s presence and resulted in shockwaves of instability. Mutual sins of omission – over Ray's profession and Eli's connection - had caught up with them; condemning Tony and Ziva to further discord by default. Moreover, Tony and Ziva discovered a firsthand, thumbnail view of how life would be if they each chose a different partner. Unfortunately, like fun house mirrors at a carnival, the image beamed by their optical nerves was distorted and confusing. The ramifications of why neither approved of the other's respective love affairs, with such zealous determination, were only partially processed. And, instead of analyzing the turmoil, Tony and Ziva were unconsciously using Ray and E.J. as armor to preclude their own incubating romance.

* * *

><p><strong>Huge thanks to my lovely reviewers; their encouragement is wonderful and much appreciated. Please post a comment if you have the time; what's working, not working, and likes or dislikes.<strong>

**Thanks also for the alerts. As ever, make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


	11. Liars

**A/N:****I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.**

**Chapter eleven: more April, the Ray-Jay warning is still in force. This chapter gets a little busy and I'm not sure if the idea/layout worked. Feel free to let me know!**

**I promise we are getting there. At least, I didn't keep you waiting too long this time.**

**And the usual for the background details….**

* * *

><p>"<em>Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears."<em>

_Rudyard Kipling _

**April 2011**

"So, how's the love-fest going upstairs?" Abby sucked on her Caf-Pow straw, watching McGee expectantly.

"Huh?" McGee was sitting beside her.

They were endeavoring to establish a link between the current suspect and the P2P's methods. The flowers, the travel or the medical supplies: anything which could support extending his custody.

"You know, Tony and E.J. and Ray and Ziva?" She nudged him gleefully in anticipation of the latest update. "Reduced calorie romance….No, I've already checked that one."

"It's not love, Abby." He began amending the algorithm; removing some parameters and altering others. "Everybody hates everybody else."

"Only _some_ bodies, McGee." Abby laughed enigmatically. "If we randomize the range more…."

She could flip from eccentric friend to sensible scientist within seconds, and keep each identity in its designated compartment. "Mr. Port-to-Port has left tracks somewhere and I will find his footprints….or fingerprints….or some type of prints."

McGee was perplexed. "What do you mean?"

Often Abby's audience was less successful and became hopelessly snarled in her mind's multitasking processor. In this instance, the confusion was made worse because McGee hadn't worked out that Tony and E.J. were sleeping together. Ziva was inherently discreet, although this rectitude had nothing to do with her silence on the relationship. If she was honest, the topic was oddly disturbing, and Ziva had conveniently avoided mentioning it to her colleague.

McGee wasn't oblivious to Tony and E.J.'s antics. Nevertheless, it never occurred to him that Tony would ever defy Gibbs over getting laid. Or if he did, the junior agent naturally believed the near capital offense would be committed with their probationary agent, not the Rota team leader.

She took the keyboard. "Like this."

"No, not _that_: I'm changing the variables input now."

Bruised pride surfaced and a brief tug of war ensued whilst he retrieved the keyboard. "Abby, I've got this." McGee shot her an exasperated look. "I meant the bit about them not hating?"

The purpose of McGee's morning visit was three-fold. There was, of course, the not inconsequential task of finding and arresting a murderer. Additionally, the maelstrom brought on by change, discord at the top and general fluctuations, was making the cheery Goth rashy. He was checking on Abby. Finally, this morning's queasy confection of unease was particularly apocalyptic in flavor; as if a red cross should be painted on the entrance to the Navy Yard. Tony was irascible. Ziva was agitated. Gibbs and E.J. were locking horns over the interrogation of Bruce Leitner. McGee was taking refuge from the fermenting atmosphere.

"It's simple, Silly. Ray's older than Ziva, charming…" Yielding ownership of the computer, she redefined her characterization at McGee's raised eyebrows. "OK, make that smarmy, in a stolid, sticky-out-eared kinda way…"

"He's Tony Lite." She giggled. "And E.J.'s all sassy and independent….waay too much 'aren't I clever?' Pretty, not beautiful sooo...she's Diet Ziva."

Taking another sip, Abby elaborated her theme enthusiastically. "Though E.J.'s very small, so maybe she's like snack-size Ziva or mini-bite…."

"Aw Abby, it's not funny." The interruption was accompanied by a grimace, Abby's mischievous food analogy wasn't curing his ails.

"Tony's pissed at Ray. Ziva's never liked E.J…." He shook his head. "Gibbs doesn't like either E.J. or Ray…" McGee morosely listed the intersecting enmities. "I think Tony and Ziva are mad at each other..."

He noticed her mouth curving into laugh again, and pleaded for sympathy. "You don't have to work with them all day."

McGee pressed some keys and waited for the command to appear on the monitor. "The next search will take a while to run." There was an optimistic air about his manner.

Speculating on the saga brewing in the bull-pen had lifted Abby's mood. "Oh Timmy, you know I'd _love_ to play hide and go seek with you…."

Her eyes sparkled impishly and she squeezed him in a tight hug. "….but you can't stay down here. Be brave. And go away."

* * *

><p>"How'd you meet him anyway?" Returning to his desk, Tony tried to acquire additional background via inoffensive curiosity.<p>

Ziva sighed, closing the file cabinet drawer. She wasn't that gullible and Tony's introductory tactic failed miserably. "That is private and has nothing to do with you."

"Fine, I'll ask Ray." Tony's laconic riposte hinted at his determination.

"I'm sure he'll be more than happy to share." A sour critique of the fact that, as far as Tony was concerned, Ray was willing to share in unnecessarily gory detail.

She halted in front of him. Ziva couldn't imagine Tony would consult Ray on the subject of their first meeting. Nevertheless, Tony displayed an extraordinary flair for managing the outlandish, and it would be unwise to set him the challenge.

"I was on assignment and our paths crossed professionally." She clinically described how Ray Cruz had entered her life.

"Yeah." Tony nodded.

"Except: he's not authorized to operate on U.S. soil, so how'd he run across you, _professionally_?" He matched her cool tone, although there was the tiniest trace of disbelief in the factual observation.

McGee's assessment of the senior agent's tetchy mood was right. Tony had slept badly, not aided by E.J.'s form lying next to him in the bed. Worry over the day's disclosures, and their connotations, combined with the singular hell of envisaging Ziva in another man's arms whilst he whispered 'I love you.' Tony's insomnia was fueled by fierce, burning resentment because Ray possessed the freedom to tell her anything he wished. In Tony's view, the endearment denoted attachment with a romantic depth approximating that of the Mariana Trench. The idea stirred dense, suffocating dread because Ziva might be longing to hear those words from Ray, and to reciprocate the sentiment. Most significantly, Tony battled mind-blowing shock because he shouldn't feel this way. Although, 'shouldn't' was a rather redundant obligation because he did, nonetheless.

"He knew someone on the Task Force, they mentioned our investigation." Ziva shrugged, as if the event was trivial. "Ray contacted me."

"Who?" Tony flatly countermanded her casual dismissal.

"A contact…friend." His question caught Ziva off-guard. "Anyway, Ray was not operating, he was…." Last summer, Ziva had been circumspect in accepting Ray's unsolicited offer of inter agency cooperation.

Tony's targeted inquiry tripped an echo of this caution, and she groped for an adequate answer. "He supplied the informant who knew of Paloma's drug shipments."

Undeterred by her growing discomfort, Tony insisted on an identity. "The friend's name Zee-vah?"

Ziva, too, had found sleep elusive and spent several hours curled on the sofa reading. The book was a ruse in the event Ray wakened and came to find her; in reality, Ziva ingested fewer pages than she had earlier in the evening. Her personal and professional worlds had mingled, and the blend resulted in chaotic fretting. Ziva cataloged and examined all the possible, rational instigators for the bubbling, tumultuous disorder within her being; constructing a type of mental Venn diagram. Alas the two circles - one illustrating what she had, one representing her aspirations - stubbornly refused to merge. Instead of overlapping and reinforcing the merits of her relationship with Ray, Ziva's analysis fostered the nebulous discontentment. Furthermore, the stability of Ziva's formula degraded entirely whenever she tried integrating Tony into the equation.

"I do not know their name." Acidity seeped into Ziva's tone, she didn't appreciate being interrogated. "What is your point?"

"It's one helluva coincidence." Tony cocked his head, and made his point. "A spook just happens to show up with a handy tip to help you, _of all people. _Then suddenly you're an item."

From the beginning, Tony had suffered from an internal 'stranger danger' alert over Ray's materialization on the scene. Originally, his anxiety had been centered upon the Reynosa cartel and its broad, multifaceted horizons; the government officials in their pocket, the mercenaries and cross-border network. Then Eli's caveat added an alternative, undeveloped dimension which became more exposed upon discovery of CI-Ray's vocation. Tony was delicately sketching the blueprint of his theory, creating the picture by degrees. Inwardly, he was praying Ziva would draw the natural conclusion for herself without Tony actually having to cast the aspersions.

"We were not _suddenly_ an item." She tartly corrected the inference of unseemly haste, narrowing her eyes and tipping up her chin. "And why is any of this important?"

Matter-of-factly, Tony stated the obvious. "You're the daughter of the fucking Director of Mossad, that's why."

"I do not need reminding of whom or what my father is, Tony." Her tone sharpened further in puzzled reprimand.

The threads of Mossad, the CIA, international counter-terrorism and their conceivable interweaving hadn't quite connected. "Ray does not know my father."

"You're sure 'bout that?" Apparently, the designated gods were deaf, busy, or shunning Tony's supplications, and he inched nearer the objective.

"Yes." Ziva's quick confirmation was unthinking, before comprehension dawned and she stared at Tony. "Why would _you_ think Ray knows my father?"

His failure to divulge the full substance of the conversation with Eli David had plagued Tony for months. He vacillated between unabridged testimony and continued postponement until he had certainties, not mysteries. His preferred option was for confiding in Ziva. He didn't like keeping things from her, and he really didn't like breaking his word. This instinct was countered by the small difficulty of not actually knowing anything; there was a distinct paucity of concrete information for disclosure.

He didn't care if Eli and Ray were in cahoots plotting to achieve global domination and establish an evil empire. Tony's sole interests were minimizing any upset to Ziva and who posed the threat: Eli or Ray. If the villain was Eli, Ray may have apprised Ziva himself and Tony would appear as if he were interfering in her private affairs. If the reverse was true, Tony would be crashing Ziva's romance; a prospect laden with all the attendant potential for misunderstandings and unhappiness.

"Because your father knows all about him." Looking at her steadily, Tony ensured his voice was exceptionally even – and calmly pulled the pin.

At best, his news was likely to be unsettling. At worst, its reception and consequences could be decidedly unpleasant. The subject involved Ziva's father and her boyfriend; stalling for extra time had seemed the lesser of two evils. Now time had run out. During the distracted overnight hours, amidst all the torment, one thought had harried Tony's brain relentlessly; he must tackle Ziva on the subject.

"How do you know this?" Although she was clearly surprised by his statement, Ziva's reply was equally neutral.

"Last fall: when I met with Eli." Tony affected nonchalance, despite the fact he was still holding the grenade. "He asked if I knew anything about your boyfriend."

"I see." Ziva tilted her head, absorbing the revelation. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing; I didn't know anything." Tony was buoyed by Ziva's response. Thus far, he had accomplished a contained implosion.

"And I wouldn't've told him even if I did." Nevertheless, he added a preemptive codicil lest she misinterpret his meaning.

He watched the reign of surprise wane and its heirs, concentration and assimilation, claim sovereignty over Ziva's features.

"Why would he speak to you about Ray?" Ziva was still staring at him, assessing Tony as much as the belated debriefing.

"I don't know…." Uncertainty tinged Tony's voice as the explanation dried up.

'I don't know' had sufficed for November, but it would be wholly unsatisfactory for this discussion. "Eli said there were questions."

"What else did he say?" Their roles had been transposed. At present, Ziva was driving the process with blunt inquiries and Tony was chasing appropriately innocuous replies.

"Um…." If the ignorance clause wouldn't serve, 'um' was unbelievably useless.

For the first time since broaching the problem, Tony glanced off her gaze. "He wanted me….he….uh….to watch out for you…."

Eli's hidden machinations notwithstanding, his attitude throughout the meeting had conveyed a conspicuous definition of Tony's entanglement with Ziva. There was an implicit meaning when he solemnly intoned 'close'; not exactly lovers, but not exactly just good friends and coworkers either. Tony wanted to be candid. Furthermore, enlightening Ziva with the uncut version, and the method by which Eli had yanked his chain, might prove instrumental in supplying a solution.

Ziva raised an eyebrow in eloquent demand.

Shifting uneasily, Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and a subdued grin appealed for mercy. "'Cause he thinks, uh…we're close….or something."

The fractured mosaic of feelings which had haunted Tony's sleeplessness infiltrated the exchange. Eli's motivations for using Tony tangled awkwardly in the root causes of his troubled night. The significance of those fears diffused under the glare of daylight, and became scattered, nonsensical abstracts: best left unreferenced. Tony floated Eli's judgment disguised as an absurd joke.

"Really?" Ziva's chilly laugh and mocking tone indicated clemency would not be forthcoming

Ditching the notion of complete truth, he retreated behind flimsy deflection. "How the hell should I know what goes on in Eli's head? He's your goddamned father, Zee-vah."

"Yes he is." She studied him for a minute, before quietly detonating the explosive. "You lied to me."

He flinched. "I didn't lie. I….I just didn't tell you everything."

This was, essentially, clutching at verbal straws. Moreover the effectiveness of Tony's emphatic contradiction was marred somewhat by the stumbling qualifier.

"You said he was worried about me. That it was a thank you." Ziva offered a recriminatory précis of Tony's previous characterization of the conference.

"It was. I told you this. Eli talked about taking down Al-Masri, the Somalia op." He dodged escalation, reiterating the overall integrity in his original account by invoking the balance of probabilities. Consistency would strengthen Tony's position.

At Thanksgiving, he had told her Eli mentioned bringing her back. Already jarred by the knowledge Tony had obscured a vital portion of the topics covered, Ziva was beset by irrational apprehensions. The discourse about the Somalia op. may have been more encompassing than mere gratitude.

Startled hurt and anxiety flickered across her face. "You discussed Saleem….what he….what happened..."

As her voice filled with unsteady dismay, Ziva reflexively backed away from him.

The notion Tony had disclosed what little he knew to Eli David induced raw, unreasoned panic. Tony could have depicted the abused, broken woman he had rescued, and thereby revealed Ziva's frailties and humiliation; the terrible emotional damage. The wounds were confined within an impenetrable ring-fence which provided control and regulated their effects. For Tony to have permitted Eli access – even vicarious access, limited by distance – would be unbearable.

"No, Ninja, there wasn't any discussion. None." Tony swiftly intervened, attempting to quell the visible influx of distress.

His guarded manner had vanished and was replaced by sincere reassurance. "He was selling the usual sociopathic bullshit. I wasn't buying."

Moving nearer, he shrugged philosophically. "Figured you didn't need to hear it again."

Ziva paced sideways, as if intent on edging past him. Tony followed suit, cutting off her path; the last thing needed was for Ziva to disengage whilst harboring misconceptions.

"I'm guessing he knows Ray's CIA, and it's some kinda a problem for him or Mossad." Searching for a distraction, Tony proffered his basic hypothesis on Eli's scheme. Her father and Ray were in the same business; perhaps their spheres had converged.

"One with which he enlisted your help." Although she had restored superficial equilibrium, there was an unmistakable trace of censure in the observation.

Tiredness can impede reaction times and cloud perceptions. Tony missed the underlying warning in her remark; he was too slow in noticing Ziva's demeanor. She was watching him warily, strained shadows ghosting her eyes. The fingers of one hand clasped around the clenched fist of the other, knuckles paling with the force.

"I'm _not_ helping him." He shook his head, irked by the suggestion of conspiracy.

"And I am supposed to believe you now?" The cold tone and skepticism in Ziva's expression announced it was a self-answering question. Doubt was creeping to the fore.

Tony had told Dr. Cranston he knew how to handle Ziva, and it was a fairly accurate appraisal of his talent. He exhibited remarkable understanding; reading and adapting to her protean personality, and expertly fielding the infinite variety of moods which presented. Although the process could be somewhat fraught, and sometimes peace wasn't effortlessly achieved, eventually Tony would help Ziva settle. He had initiated the conversation confident he would be able to talk her down should the encounter go pear-shaped. However, Tony's hands were normally clean in whatever was triggering her disquiet; whereas, in this case, they were ever so slightly grubby. Moreover, it was his involvement which was stirring the greatest agitation: an unexpected obstacle.

"Yes." Tony snapped the exasperated, baffled affirmative.

Ziva was more fixated on Tony's role as unwitting accomplice, and less on any connection - hazardous or otherwise - between Eli and her boyfriend.

"How come you're so certain Ray doesn't know your father?" Reverting to the material issue, Tony pushed for clarification.

"Because _he_ would have told me." Ziva's instant, smug retort managed to act for both the defense and prosecution; acquitting Ray and condemning Tony.

"Oh of course he would." Irritated by her shielding Ray - that his reputation was unimpeachable - Tony's scathingly sarcastic agreement was spiked by unacknowledged jealousy.

His simmering frustrations boiled into outright annoyance. "Jesus Zee-vah, will you just _think_ for a second?"

* * *

><p>McGee had exited the elevator, made it to the partition beside Ziva's workstation, and aborted his approach in immediate recognition of the scenario. Tony and Ziva were located in the gap between his and Tony's desks, positioned on a diagonal. Tony's back was roughly aligned with Gibbs' place, and Ziva's was toward Tony's chair.<p>

E.J. came up alongside him, glimpsed Tony and started forward in his direction.

"Don't." McGee's arm stretched out, blocking her movement.

Previously, McGee had been nothing but pliant amiability, now his action and tone definitely erred on the side of a command. E.J. was taken aback, and she shot him a quizzical look.

"They're….er…." The junior agent smiled affably in deleting instruction mode. "Tony and Ziva are…erhm….they're sorting something out."

He couldn't hear everything being said. He didn't need to hear. The body language, expressions and ominous, crackling electricity in the air confirmed the status of the pair. This wasn't playful bickering or a harmless squabble; Tony and Ziva were fighting.

"It's usually best to stay out of the way 'til they're done." McGee withdrew his arm, satisfied E.J. wasn't going to barge in.

"Usually?" E.J. turned toward him. "This is normal?" There was unashamed nosiness in E.J.'s demeanor.

"We-ell, weirdly yes, for them anyway." McGee pondered whether he was breaching an unknown principle of team etiquette in chatting about his colleagues' partnership.

Nevertheless, they were all required to cooperate and E.J. might profit from someone filling in the complicated blanks. "I'm not sure how long they've been at this one, but it's probably a three on the scale."

"A three?" E.J. raised her eyebrows.

In common with Gibbs, the imported team leader was accustomed to people volunteering every piece of pertinent information.

"I'm new." E.J. bossily reminded her adviser that she wouldn't be familiar with the all local customs and colloquialisms of the Navy Yard.

"On the TaZ scale: like the Saffir-Simpson scale for hurricanes?" McGee nodded pleasantly.

She occupied the same rank, but E.J. wasn't close to being Leroy Jethro Gibbs in bearing. "I invented it."

He showed sweet, geeky enjoyment in expounding his method for measuring the friction. McGee inhabited the realm of binary code; data, predictions, and outcomes were all based in sensible calculations. It was his comfort zone, and the sporadically demented conduct of his coworkers disrupted that tranquility. The scale provided a buffer. He didn't publicize the gauge and McGee daren't tell Tony and Ziva he rated their interaction in terms of natural disasters.

"This looks to be running just above a three." Periodically, McGee would check his weather glass and forecast the likely atmosphere. If conditions would be calm, changeable, stormy, or demanded actively battening down the hatches, and evacuating. During spring 2009, circumstances had necessitated near hourly monitoring.

E.J. was amused; there was a nerd on her unit too. Obviously, Special Agents Cade and McGee were going to get along famously. "How high does it go?"

"Five." He noted E.J.'s slightly dubious smirk that the quarrel only rated as moderate.

"But they haven't been like this for, oh….." McGee blew out his cheeks, trying to recall the last occasion when the turbulence had been so powerful and unstable. And the junior agent was forced to concede he couldn't remember a recent outbreak. "…actually, not for a long time."

* * *

><p>Ziva folded her arms, indignant intransigence matching Tony's resolute ire. "What is <em>that<em> supposed to mean?"

"Eli's in D.C. so Ray decides on a visit, then Eli's no longer around and, oh hey, he cancels." Tony mockingly snapped his fingers and sardonically forged the links in the chain, having reached the stage of 'contained-anything-be-damned'.

He took a couple of paces toward Ziva.

"Did you _ever_ actually ask him why?" The slow, emphasized delivery signaled Tony's encroachment into her territory wasn't reassurance related. He was increasing the pressure.

Tony's embellishment of the charged ether was entirely unnecessary; rising volume and baleful expressions showed the reality of tensions escalating by the minute.

"You have _no_ evidence for such an allegation." Ziva defiantly picked up the gauntlet, stepping even closer and proclaimed an outraged rebuttal.

"No, I don't have any evidence." Tony shook his head, but the admission was extremely unapologetic. "But instead of asking Ray for proof I'm wrong, you're standing here yelling at me."

He conveniently overlooked such a declaration was in absolute violation of one of the fundamentals of natural justice: innocent until proven guilty.

"Because, Tony, it is you who is in collusion with my father." Ziva's non sequitur triggered the secondary fuse with barbed acrimony.

"For Christ's sake Zee-vah, don't be ridiculous." His derisory laugh and scornful dismissal of Ziva's specious claim were warranted, in addition to being exceedingly unkind.

Tony and Eli would be incapable of complicity over the time of day, let alone pull off a dual assault on Ziva's relationship.

He was dimly aware they were both culpable of shooting the messenger type behavior. He had been annoyed at her concealment of Ray's occupation; likewise Ziva's response to Tony's discussion with her father. Tony was grateful she wasn't armed, because there was always the outside chance Ziva might interpret the metaphor literally. Unfortunately, this insight didn't assist Tony in withstanding Ziva's squall.

In a shrewd bid to convince Ziva that his misgivings were prompted by factors beyond merely Eli's opinion, Tony jogged her memory. "Look, I warned you when you got back from Miami, and you said he was a friend."

The self-righteous, 'I-told-you-so' attitude was a less astute ploy.

"We were friends." This was true and, had Ray not persevered, they would still be friends.

Ziva stubbornly clung to the virtue, wielding it as though it was a sword. "I was being truthful, _you_ were not."

Tony began vehement protest. "I didn't…."

"I'll tell you just as soon as I figure it out." Ziva interjected, bitterly spitting out his assurance from five months ago.

Another side-effect of fatigue is impaired cognitive function. If Eli's persona was removed from the situation, Tony's suspicions – the case against Ray - would seem plausible. They were certainly worthy of a thorough inspection. Ray had urged reconciliation with her father. His recommendation was always couched in the benefits for Ziva; a neat and clear-cut settlement for the sake of healing. Intermittently he implied she still struggled with the ordeal, because she wouldn't embrace the simplistic concept of closure. In spite of its rather misguided nature, Ziva had assumed the advice was given genuinely. Her imprisonment and her difficult relationship with Eli were areas she kept largely isolated from Ray, and so he couldn't be expected to fully comprehend her perspective. Tony's revelations had put a different complexion on the matter of making peace with the Director of Mossad.

"And you did figure it out, Tony." Weary and besieged by the contradictory elements, vexed reproach burst into Ziva's voice. "Only telling me cannot have been important."

He hadn't actually uttered the phrase "I promise.' Nevertheless, Ziva had accepted Tony's assertion as a pledge: a supreme, infallible guarantee. And now it appeared she was wrong. Like a cartoon character who realizes they have just run off the edge of a cliff into thin air, legs flailing for purchase, Ziva's brain was frantically scrabbling for solid ground. She trusted him unconditionally and without reservation. Ziva hadn't understood that trust, her absolute reliance on Tony, until confronted with perceived betrayal. The recognition left her reeling, as though a huge hole had been gouged inside, and the void flooded with crazily muddled, desperate emotions.

"Has it ever occurred to you that I didn't tell you because of this?" Tony gestured at Ziva, in illustration of his disparaging estimation.

Often, in many disagreements, there is a watershed when the principles and doctrines go out of the window. In their stead arrive logical fallacies and insults which are all disguised as valid reasoning. The debate becomes a war of attrition: no longer about the actual issue, merely about winning the conflict.

Ziva's sharp inquiry cracked like a whip. "What?"

"This….this goddamned Nikita on steroids routine of yours." Aggrieved frustration colored his complaint.

Tony knew she had been thrown off-balance, yet his tolerance was stifled by Ziva's doubting his integrity. "OK, maybe I should've told you sooner, but I _didn't_ lie to you."

The grudging confession was mixed with surly rejection of any delinquency. In Tony's view the denial was perfectly legitimate; he hadn't lied, he simply hadn't been completely honest.

Similar to the crusty caldera of a dormant super-volcano clearing its throat with a pre-eruption cough, yesterday's argument had been a precursor. Since the toxic introduction of Ray and E.J., the magma chamber had been gradually filling, until there was no room available for expansion. Finally, the built up stresses exceeded the critical combustion point - and exploded spectacularly.

"Yes, you did." She refuted his stance with implacable certainty. Ziva glared at Tony, biting her lip.

"You should have come to me directly…." As a renewed surge of confused emotions rose, overwrought, injured reproach crept into her inflection. "….talked to _me_ about Ray; not…snoop or….or spy on me for my father…."

Ziva knew her father and knew how he operated. Unluckily, she translated 'watch out for' into surveillance, ironically mirroring Tony's initial understanding of the request.

"Yeah right, 'cause that worked real fucking well last time, didn't it Zee-vah?" Goaded by the inference he was Eli's ally – Tony's honor was at stake – he lashed out with a savage interruption.

He was enraged by Ziva's insistence on willful deceit as his rationale. Most importantly, the core of Ziva's position, delineated with painful clarity, had emerged from the jumbled reactions. She didn't trust him. This realization was exacerbated by a guilty conscience; he was the architect of his own downfall. Eternal procrastination had led to forfeiture of Ziva's faith.

* * *

><p>"Oh God, Tony, you just had to go there, didn't you?" McGee groaned a despairing rebuke of his friend and winced. "Four point five."<p>

E.J. had been watching the performance in horrified fascination. Tony and Ziva were practically occupying the same spot: oblivious to onlookers, the surroundings - everything but each other. He was exuding cold rage, which clashed with the fiery fury radiating from the normally icily detached Israeli. The sight was akin to the human equivalent of an oxy-acetylene torch: the mingling of their individual components creating a fountain of sparks. And E.J. experienced a stab of disconsolation, struck by what it meant to capture Tony's undivided attention. The Rota team leader had never seen this aspect of Tony's personality. She had basically called him a coward, suggested his sense of ambition was deficient, and Tony had reacted with good-natured indifference. E.J. queried internally if she was the sideshow, not the main event.

Mesmerized, she nudged McGee. "What happens at five?"

McGee inclined his head. "They stop talking."

He spoke gravely, as though he had just discovered a bomb underneath them and the timing mechanism had run down to zero. "Then it gets bad."

E.J. looked at him, open-mouthed and incredulous that a self-imposed quarantine for Tony and Ziva could be worse than a warring Tony and Ziva.

* * *

><p>Sleep deprivation shortens tempers: inhibits the capacity for coping and patience. When Tony flaunted Ziva's heedless disregard over Michael Rivkin, the argument acquired the characteristics of an internecine dispute, and mutually assured destruction was waiting in the wings. Lack of practice hadn't diminished their ability to inflict damage. The stunning sense of how much she depended upon Tony and the simultaneous shattering of that foundation had rattled and unnerved Ziva. Typically, she utilized attack to supply safety.<p>

"So this is my fault." Blaming Ziva was iniquitous, and she furiously seized the injustice.

"Will that be your excuse again, Tony?" The comment was heavily imbued with malicious moral superiority.

Conscious control on his temper had rapidly degenerated from endangered to extinct, Tony started to leave.

"You never care about the damage or who you hurt, do you?" Ziva called out the accusation, striking with scalding spite.

She could have been alluding to hurting Jeanne or perhaps even killing Rivkin; however, the most likely, and most incendiary, candidate was Ziva. Her egregious, cutting condemnation was, in essence, a slap in the face.

If Ziva had just recklessly burned a bridge, Tony proceeded to hunt down the bridge designer and perpetrate a scorched earth policy on both riverbanks.

He spun around and retraced his steps, getting in her space. "Tell me something, do you deliberately pick them for their ability to fuck with us?"

His tone was viciously quiet, drenched in frigid anger and biting contempt. "Or do you just get stupid for any guy that hits on you?"

Then he walked away.

Long ago, Mcgee had evolved the knack of acting totally unaware when it came to their quarrels.

"Tony." Passing the senior agent with a friendly nod, McGee sat down at his desk.

Tony was fuming, cursing under his breath as he strode to the elevator and smacked the call button. He wasn't sure which antagonist he wanted to punch first: her father or her boyfriend. Eli had ensnared him in another incomprehensible maze. Currently, he was favoring Cruz for scoring a double by ensnaring Tony and Ziva in Eli's maze. Plus Ray was in the neighborhood; retribution could be satisfyingly imminent.

E.J. wasn't as circumspect as McGee when she bounced up to Tony.

"Wow." She smiled at him admiringly, and launched into bitchy disapproval of his partner. "Temperamental's _way_ too kind."

Studying Ziva's figure, receding in the opposite direction, E.J. eagerly sought inclusion. "What was that all about?"

"None of your fucking business." She was suitably abashed by the ferocious snarl.

Tony screwed up his face. "Sorry."

Shaking his head, he examined the skylight for a few moments, as a wave of despondent self-loathing washed into his thoughts. "It was….she's….it's work stuff."

It was a pathetic, unpersuasive justification, yet it was impossible to coherently explain the inexplicable. Whenever Tony truly lost his temper, the chances were exceptionally good that Ziva would be found at the flashpoint: holding accelerant and matches. She could provoke him to aggravation or delight; bedevil or beguile him in a heartbeat, and he kept going back for more.

"Lunch?" E.J. opted for dropping the topic of Ziva.

"Yeah, why not." Tony sighed, suddenly dispirited and drained; a brief respite from the office would be appreciated.

Ideally he craved solitude to try and figure out a strategy. Immediate reconstruction would be an overly ambitious aim, but extinguishing the fire might be feasible.

* * *

><p>E.J. finished her latest round of criticizing Gibbs and moved closer. Tony restarted the elevator, wondering forlornly why none of the women in his life ever listened to him.<p>

"Well, maybe your coworkers could get used to the idea of me being here on a more permanent basis?" E.J. coquettishly hinted at staying in D.C., whilst taking a shot at Ziva.

When Tony remained mildly interested but silent, she carried on. "I look at you, and how you've made this place work for yourself….it's your home."

These types of exchange always made him uncomfortable, and it had become something of a recurring theme for E.J. They had been dating a month; by anyone's standards it was too early to be considering picking out china patterns. Additionally, Tony's yardstick for girlfriends was rather similar to dog versus people years. Reasonable commitment milestones for regular couples equated to excessively precipitous actions in his book.

Tony glanced at her, making a deftly noncommittal reply. "It's all about the people around you."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that." E.J. smiled because it seemed as though he was going to kiss her. And then the doors opened.

There was an awful, embarrassed pause as they all surveyed the scene.

"Agent David, CI-Ray…" Caught in a vaguely compromising position, Tony taunted Ray with his nickname.

"Stop calling him that." Ziva hissed admonishment. Ray had come to collect her for a prearranged lunch.

"It's OK, I kinda like it." Ray feigned camaraderie, and the two men renewed the psychological contest for dominance.

Tony purposefully walked between Ziva and Ray, E.J. trailed after him. "Agent Cruz."

There was a second horrible pause, but this time the discomfort belonged solely to Ray.

'Wait….you two know each other?" Consternation sounded in Ziva's query.

"Well, yeah, didn't he tell you?" E.J.'s snarky rejoinder was uncalled for and bordered on gloating.

Having seen Tony and Ziva's altercation, she was standing by her man in a show of unity; albeit a badly misconstrued display. "Ray's our CIA Liaison with NCIS on the P2P case."

Alas, at that precise juncture, E.J.'s man was fervently wishing she was standing in bottomless pit of quicksand or on a trapdoor; anywhere except next to him. Tony's heart sank as mortified shock swamped Ziva, and plummeted further as she faultlessly masked the weakness. Tony steadily scrutinized Ray - who was avoiding everyone's eyes - before gazing at Ziva. E.J. was disconcerted because Tony's amorous mood in the elevator had evaporated; he was totally focused on his partner. Puzzled and peeved, E.J. walked off into the squad room. Reluctantly, Tony turned and followed.

* * *

><p>Sitting at the bar, Ziva hoped the bartender was happily married, gay or otherwise attached, so she wouldn't spend the evening fending off inept chat up lines. She had selected this establishment specifically on the basis of its patrons. They were a different group than the crowd at the livelier haunts frequented by the team. Of all the havens situated relatively near the Navy Yard, here she was unlikely to run across any acquaintances. Ziva didn't want to go home, but she did want to mull over the wreckage in solitary misery.<p>

Her life had unraveled with breathtaking speed and, although contemplating its ruin was not a particularly pleasant procedure, Ziva didn't recoil from a brutally candid inquisition. She had resolved asking Ray about Tony's insinuations at lunch. Ray's unveiling as liaison on the Port-to-Port case had rendered that task unnecessary, and Ziva hadn't even bothered to inquire. The surrender of Bruce Leitner was a calculated strategy; one devised to win back her trust. However, since Gibbs would eventually find out by himself, Ray wasn't taking a gamble and Ziva had identified the tactic. Manipulation was also a part of her skill set. On her way back to the Navy Yard, she had weighed how much of Ray's persistent suit had been professional, how much personal and where her father fitted into the picture. These were all practical questions and, although the answers were unedifying, they were manageable.

Ray had accused Ziva of overreaction. Tony would have been hugely entertained by the false characterization, because the encounter would have barely recorded a one on McGee's meter. This comprehension formed part of her conundrum. She was annoyed and hurt by Ray's deception but, on reflection, Ziva couldn't honestly say she was angry with him; not truly angry. Embarrassment in front of one's coworkers is guaranteed to bruise an ego which, in reality, had been the source of her ire. After the discovery of Tony's stretch of truth and their confrontation, she had been trembling, on the verge of tears; taking sanctuary in the evidence locker until composure was restored. The disparity between her reactions – the strength and nature of them – led Ziva to melancholic, introspective musing this evening.

* * *

><p>"Wine or beer? Thai or Italian?" E.J. leaned over the 'hedge', enticingly describing the order of play for the evening. "Your place or mine?"<p>

Tony stared across at Ziva's empty desk. "Pass."

"Oh." E.J. pouted, obviously expecting and in-depth excuse.

"I gotta…." Tony hesitated. The primary task was to find out where Ziva had fled at the end of the day, and he definitely didn't need E.J. tagging along.

Shrugging apologetically, he firmly announced his plans. "I gotta talk to Zee-vah."

E.J. remembered what McGee had said about communication breaking down once a dispute reached five. Yet there was a strange, worried quality to Tony's declaration, and she surmised the hostilities had nothing to do with his quest. She was an able investigator and the presumption was correct. McGee had brought Tony up-to-date with the news of Ziva's split with Ray. Tony was very concerned.

"Well, I guess I'll see you….tomorrow….then?" E.J.'s farewell was slanted toward the goal of giving Tony an opportunity; he could stop at her apartment afterwards.

"Uh, yeah: night." Tony's disconnected reply underlined his preoccupied thoughts.

* * *

><p>Ziva despised herself for the unthinking plea that Ray tell her he loved her; it was needy and insecure. Moreover, she admitted the sense of wishing to be loved had shaped her fall. She was conscious the constant longing had been dispelled by Ray's attention. He had pursued and wooed her: desired Ziva. In spite of any possible ulterior motives, at least Ray saw her as a woman. Not merely as a lethal, booted and spurred, cargo-pant-clad, one of the boys. In allowing his courtship to ameliorate the lonely yearning, Ziva realized she personified the axiom of 'hope told a flattering tale.' Her own heart had betrayed Ziva; not Ray. This sad conclusion had the tears pricking again.<p>

"Hey, you shouldn't drink alone. It's too depressing." He nonchalantly tossed his coat onto an adjacent stool and sat beside Ziva.

Ziva was focused on the big screen t.v. as she sipped her drink. "It is a club soda, and I am not depressed."

She was depressed, although not for the reason Tony believed. She was also confused. Which was a depressing sensation by itself, and the turmoil wasn't aided by Tony trespassing in the middle of her meditations. Ziva could isolate parts of her being from Ray; she possessed no such power with Tony. His capacity to access and invade her soul, seemingly at will, was wonderful, gratifying and absolutely terrifying.

"Jesus, who the hell goes to a bar and drinks club soda?" He beckoned in relief for the barman.

This was the fourth place he had reconnoitered in the search for Ziva; a cocktail was long overdue. "Seriously, you really need to practice this whole getting drunk to fix a broken heart thing."

"I do not have a broken heart." She was studiously avoiding eye contact and her tone was coolly distant. The fortifications had been erected, entrenched and secured.

Tony grinned wolfishly. "Well, if it's some other part of you that broken Zee-vah, I'd love to help but we'd get fired."

His quip was full-throttle, irresistible charm. The outrageous suggestion designed to break the ice, trigger a response: amusement or exasperation - even annoyance - some sort of engagement.

"Wouldn't blame you, it's been a rough day." He shook his head in commiseration.

Rough was missing the mark by a fairly wide margin. The deity of woe had meted out further punishment in numerically proper measure; the forty eight hour tally was one short of a dozen. In addition to their fight and Ray's faux pas, the suspect hadn't panned out and the P2P had killed again. The murderer had cunningly misdirected the team and demonstrated the undeniable excellence of his talents.

"Maybe for you." Ziva flintily blocked the sympathy, her gaze fixed straight ahead. "I am fine."

It seemed the coals were still glowing from this morning's inferno. Fortunately, Tony was a gifted firewalker when it came to negotiating the volatility of Ziva's moods.

Glancing at the screen, he remained neutral. "If you were fine, you wouldn't be here."

Embers flared, the hotspot igniting into irritation. "OK, then, let's go." Ziva collected her bag and prepared to leave.

Tony's hand shot out, grabbing the upper part of her arm.

"I would like a drink." That was something of an understatement.

Ziva was surprised by the forceful maneuver and, for the first time since his arrival, she met his eyes.

"And it's depressing to drink alone." He wryly reclaimed the cavalier attitude.

As she sat down, Ziva glared pointedly at his hand. He released his grip, exaggeratedly holding his open hand in the air for a second. Tony cocked his head and raised his eyebrows in a subtle warning to Ziva. His message was clear; they weren't done yet, and Tony would repeat the move if necessary. The last two waltzes had ended abruptly with one of them walking away. Flight wasn't on tonight's dance card.

Having successfully gained Ziva's attention, Tony ordered refreshment and glanced at her. "He's CIA."

Privately, Tony considered Ray's actions extremely half-baked. The issue wasn't a State secret; Ray wouldn't have been giving Ziva the nuclear launch codes. Furthermore, because of her history, Tony knew she would keep a secret to the grave, through the after-life and, if commanded, Ziva would maintain confidentiality in any reincarnation. By Tony's reckoning, Agent Cruz was demoted from the register of idiots, and enrolled in the ledger of the catatonically dumb. And, regretfully, Tony had inscribed his own name at the very bottom of that list. He may have been acting in good faith; however, he knew had hurt Ziva which annulled the virtue in Tony's estimation.

Ziva cast a withering grimace at Tony. She was acutely aware of Ray's occupation; it had been the cause of considerable dissent.

"They have a sworn duty to protect what they know….same as we do." Tony's voice was low and serious. "He was just doing his job."

Naturally, Ziva understood the reason the vast majority of Ray's duties and operations for the CIA were off-limits, and she happily acquiesced to the requirement. This assignment was another matter, because it impacted her work. She wondered ruefully what elements of her railing against E.J.'s handling of the case, or other details, had been reported to his boss. Ray's undisclosed role placed Ziva in a difficult situation regarding Gibbs. Since she was dating a coworker from a disliked sibling agency, it was contravention of Rule #12 to the max. Ziva was entitled to a professional 'heads up' purely as a courtesy. Last night it had become apparent Ray respected neither NCIS, nor Ziva's job, and this was extremely annoying.

"He lied to me, Tony." Ziva's adamant tone denounced the transgression as unforgivable. Tony cringed inwardly.

Tony and Ray had deceived Ziva. Tony's lingual artistry notwithstanding, he had misled her just as surely as Ray had done. However, that was where the parallel behaviors of the two men diverged, and the differences were enormously significant. Ray was protecting his career and himself: whereas Tony was protecting Ziva. Tony would tease her and disagree with her; offer open advice or stand in forthright opposition. Nevertheless, ultimately, Tony never prevented Ziva from determining her own fate and, once she had made her decision, he would be at her side in unwavering support.

Most importantly, when Ziva's choice was a misjudgment, or if she made a mistake, Tony was always there to catch her before she hit the ground. Admittedly, on occasion, he cut the timing a little too fine for comfort, but he was steadfast and ever-present, nonetheless. The recognition provoked a wistful ache in Ziva's consciousness. Tony's appearance in the bar, right on cue, was an explicit endorsement of his fidelity.

"Yeah." Tony nodded, pausing and briefly abandoning her gaze.

"Because he cares about you." The remark was touchingly earnest because Tony wasn't referring to Ray; he was talking about himself.

He refocused on the screen, swallowing and suppressing the feelings from conquering calm.

If Ziva noticed the subtext to Tony's phrase, she didn't acknowledge the hidden content.

"It does not matter, because it is over." Her uncompromising statement centered upon Ray and the consequences of his malfeasance.

There is an appropriate moment for telling someone their newly ex-boyfriend is a cad. And this wasn't it. Ray had adroitly proved Tony's point for him; rubbing in the victory would be gratuitous. Tony's self-appointed mission was to remove the sting and administer balm; seeking to console Ziva with the notion she hadn't been completely defrauded. He didn't doubt Ray coveted her, sizing up the competition was an intuitive skill, Tony simply didn't believe Ray loved Ziva.

As the barman placed the scotch in front of him, Tony looked at her again. "Maybe he was protecting you….'til he….uh, 'til…."

For the second time, Tony struggled to separate remission of his sins from convincing Ziva the debacle wasn't Rivkin Redux.

"The P2P's only just come to town; Ray's been on it for months." He shrugged carelessly. "E.J. didn't tell me about her assignment either."

"And you do not mind?" She was curious about his level of trust in E.J.

"Yeah, I did, I guess…kinda." Tony fumbled for an answer because he hadn't really cared.

Although E.J.'s air of mystery and theatrics at the victim's apartment were mildly annoying, the matter had barely entered his consciousness. He had been absorbed by numerous troubles, whose common denominator was Ziva, which didn't augur well for his future with E.J.

"What about you and E.J.?" Her query was asked rather stiffly.

She assumed his unconcerned manner at E.J's cover-up indicated the depth of Tony's affections for the agent; how highly she was treasured. The cosy vignette on display in the elevator flashed into Ziva's thoughts.

Caught off-guard by the switch, Tony frowned and deflected. "What about us?"

Overt diplomacy and empathy did not come readily to Ziva, and she pondered her approach for a few minutes. Tony was being a good partner, sacrificing an evening with his girlfriend, and Ziva attempted to repay his friendship.

E.J.'s rank as lead investigator would undoubtedly pose Gibbs-related problems. "What are you going to do when Gibbs finds out?"

Their eyes hovered and captured each other.

The straightforward pleasures of having company and someone with whom to have sex, would not be especially appealing character recommendations.

"I understand this one, Zee-vah. I understand her." Tony applied a veneer of respectability to his motivations.

And his explanation was honest; dealing with E.J. was akin to reading 'Goodnight Moon" in comparison to the complexities of Ziva's 'Ulysses.'

She was staring at him.

"That's why it's working." It was true. The relationship was undemanding in terms of effort required.

Chewing her lip, Ziva's gaze slipped away and the throbbing ache became more pronounced. In mastering her muddled reactions, Ziva was oblivious the note of self-persuasion in Tony's comment.

"I didn't order that." Tony declined the drink.

"That guy in the booth did." Refusing a free beverage seemed ungrateful from the bartender's point of view.

The joint visual survey of the booth meant they only glimpsed the door swinging shut, not Tony's anonymous benefactor.

"I wonder who…." Her intrigued supposition was rudely interrupted when Tony dropped the drink as though bitten. And Ziva spied a human eyeball nestling amongst the shards of smashed ice and glass.

The twelfth grief ghoulishly stared back at them.

An appalled nano-second ensued before Tony and Ziva reacted. "Don't touch that." Tony curtly instructed.

The aghast man's features registered unadulterated 'do-you-seriously-think-I-would?' revulsion.

"And do not leave." Ziva's snapped caveat followed on immediately.

"Should I call….?" Tony and Ziva forestalled the query, almost telepathically. "NO." Chorusing the negative, they drew weapons and raced to the street.

The bar was in the middle of a block, Ziva peeled left and Tony to the right. Separately they scanned the stream of passers-by; the office workers, shoppers and tourists - willing themselves to spot the anomaly. The person walking too quickly, or loitering too casually: the one trying too hard to blend in. It was a fruitless exercise and they converged outside the building.

"He's gone." Tony vocalized their twin deductions and Ziva nodded assent. "Was he there when you arrived?"

"Perhaps." She paused in diligent recall. Immersed in her upset, Ziva had paid scant regard to the customers. "I could not be certain."

She gave up, sighing. "If he was, I did not see him. What about you?"

Tony had been distracted by locating Ziva and anticipating his probable welcome. "Same."

He noticed her scrutinizing the dark, narrow gap which ran down one side of the bar, leading to the rear entrance.

Tony reiterated the sick jokester's absence. "No, he's gone."

Ziva took a couple of paces toward the recess. "This might have been his route, yes?"

"Uh-uh, Ninja." Tony grimly shook his head. "Canvassing." He was the senior agent and had no qualms about pulling rank.

It might be a long-shot. However, the P2P must have tailed either Tony or Ziva, and had been watching them for an indeterminate period. Alleys were his favorite killing zone, and Tony wasn't about to let Ziva go exploring alone. Additionally, his priorities were valid; there were witnesses to interview, there was a crime scene to secure. Not to mention the fact, a window to someone's soul was quietly defrosting in a puddle of gin and tonic.

"Call Gibbs." Tony settled on the first requirement, as Ziva tugged open the door.

She looked at him quizzically. "We should call E.J."

"I don't care, call Gibbs." Tony was fond of his girlfriend but was familiar with her shortcomings.

This case and this killer were beyond Agent Barrett's capabilities, and his boss would counter that imbalance. "He can decide about E.J. and take any heat."

In addition to the bartender, there were four people present. A group of architects who hadn't noticed anything until commotion broke into their conversation. They had been permitted to go home. The orb had been sequestered and the establishment sealed off. Tony had questioned the still-revolted bartender. He had poured the guy a generous shot of liquid courage, whilst prodding for a better description of the customer. Once he was satisfied there was nothing else to be gained, Tony wandered over to Ziva who was standing near the offending booth, in the dusky gloom of closed-for-business lighting.

She was obsessively erasing the latest bombardment of Ray's communiques from her cell 'phone with ardent concentration. Uncertain as to whether she was ignoring him, or hadn't seen him, Tony stretched out a hand. Ziva was rigid; her back felt as if it had been welded to an iron bar. Instinctively, Tony's fingers tentatively squeezed her shoulder. She didn't shrug him off and his hand wasn't broken - encouraged, Tony continued with greater confidence.

"Are you alright?" He peered around at her, sensing Ziva relax a little.

"Yes." Ziva exhaled a long, slow breath, flexing her neck.

"Listen, um…'bout this morning….what I said…." Tony cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry Zee-vah and I should have…"

Ziva craned her head slightly, watching his expression. "Thank you. But it is I who owes the apology and I am sorry." She interjected an acknowledgement of heartfelt remorse.

"No, Zee-vah, I…." Ziva seemed so lost and vulnerable, Tony desperately sought to ease the tension.

Ziva reached up a hand, lightly laying it on top of his, in a fleeting caress.

"Stop, please. Do not say any more, please Tony? I would rather not discuss it." There was a tinge of shaky stress in her voice, and her eyes were suspiciously bright.

She'd had an astonishingly shitty day. At the same time, skipping the argument over apologizing for an argument was eminently desirable. Adjusting the placement of his hand, Tony slid his thumb beneath her hair and gently stroked the nape of Ziva's neck. She leaned back, seeking his touch. Tony stepped forward, closing the gap between them.

"OK, it's OK." He muttered soft, soothing comfort into her hair.

Suddenly, the spontaneous contact had become incredibly – dangerously – intimate and intense. Tony found himself repressing the compulsion to hold Ziva, wrap her in his arms. She was fighting the temptation to turn around and bury her face against Tony's chest. The concurrent impulses were only resisted because the shimmering gleam of streetlamps highlighted a halo of silver hair, and Gibbs' effigy loomed on the other side of the plate glass window.

The umbra is the darkest part of a shadow, where the light source is totally obscured by the occluding body. For Tony and Ziva that darkness seemed to have the endurance of an Antarctic winter. Yet, at long last, there was an imperceptible glimmer of brightness.

They had attained a five but, despite McGee's fears, the achievement hadn't resulted in catastrophe because Tony and Ziva didn't stop talking. The solidly crafted, slowly built friendship which had been evolving was their saving grace; permitting them to staunch the hemorrhage of retaliatory hurts. Tony and Ziva met at the mid-point and redeemed their romance.

Now all they had to do was start moving in the same direction, at the same time –and it would be useful if they could actually find the same road.

* * *

><p><strong>Huge thanks to my reviewers; it is always great to hear you're enjoying [or not] the story and you prompted me to stop tinkering with this bit and post it! Please do leave a comment, if you have the time; making sense or not, bored rigid, can't wait…<strong>

**Thanks also for the alerts. As ever, make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.**


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